Examination
by smithereen
Summary: Sequel to Ticket Stubs. Rory tries to prepare for final exams, while the guys in her life complicate things. Complete.
1. Part One

_RATING: PG  
CONTENT: mild cursing, kissing  
SUMMARY: Rory tries to prepare for exams, while the men in her life complicate things. Sequel to Ticket Stubs. I suggest you read that first because this is continuing from the alternate version of the season finale in that story. If you refuse to read it (and why would you refuse, darn you! :) you need to know that Dean didn't come to Chilton, and that Rory and Tristan went to PJ Harvey together, had a good time and worked some stuff out.  
PAIRING: R/T, R/D  
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. Check with Amy Sherman-Palladino and the WB if you want to rent them.  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is ultimately a R/T fic, but I don't feel I can just ignore the season finale which was pretty clear that Rory wanted Dean back, so there is R/D stuff in here as well. So R/D fans, there's some stuff you'll like in here, and other stuff you won't. And R/T fans, hang on...Tristan shows up in Part 2 :)  
AUTHOR'S NOTE 2: I realized half-way through that Rory says they are taking Spanish in The Breakup, Part 2. I have them taking French, so please forgive the mistake._

**Examination**

**PART ONE**

Rory slammed her math book shut in frustration, and dropped her head heavily on her folded arms. She sighed, and rubbed her forehead against her forearm. Sunday already, and after Sunday would come Monday with its fabulous Chilton hell.

"Homework got you down?" Lorelai said, sitting down at the table next to her.

"Let's just say I'm glad there's only a week and a half left of school," Rory said, banging her head lightly against the table a couple times. "I'm pretty sure my brain is full."

"You'll have the whole summer to empty that sucker out," Lorelai said with a grin.

"Maybe I should just start summer today," Rory said. "How important are finals in the long run anyway?"

"Awww, babe," Lorelai said, gently stroking her daughter's hair. "Still upset about Paris and the big ostracism of 2001?"

"No, it's been two days, I'm over it," Rory said sarcastically.

"It's going to be okay," Lorelai said. "Paris came around before, she will again."

"Don't bet on it," Rory said.

"Well, there are other kids at Chilton. Maybe you can start a counterrevolutionary group and overthrow Paris' regime."

"Great plan. Too bad everyone else hates me too."

"Not everyone."

"Tristan doesn't count."

"Well, good lord, how did he get into 10th grade if he can't count? I thought Chilton had standards!"

"Mom," Rory whined.

"Rory," Lorelai whined back. She tapped her daughter on the head with her hand repeatedly. "I would be more sympathetic if you hadn't just spent Friday night at a great concert with your friend from Chilton. You know, your Tristan shaped friend who doesn't count?" She stopped talking, but kept tapping. "Is this annoying?" Rory raised her head and swatted at her mom's hand. "I'll take that as a yes."

"What am I supposed to do?" Rory said. "If Paris sees me and Tristan hanging out it'll only make her hate me more."

"Well, I guess you have a choice," Lorelai said. "You can ditch Tristan in the hopes that it'll get you more friends. Or you can stick with the one friend you have now. Hey, it's like gambling. You have to know when to hold them and you have to know when to fold them. And you have to know when to take one for the money and when to take one for the road."

Rory snorted, and gave a little smile despite herself. "I guess I can stand a year of writing articles about parking lots and hall monitors."

"And while you're writing your ridiculous articles, you can secretly work to undermine Paris' authority at the paper and then you can emerge the year after as the new editor." Lorelai laughed evilly. "All the power! All yours."

Rory stared at her mother. "You're insane."

"It helps when you're trying to take over the world one high-school newspaper at a time." She grabbed her daughter's arm. "Hey, you know what we should do today? We should have an almost-summer celebration. We could get ice cream and wear bathing suits around. Oooh! I think I still have your old slip and slide."

Rory raised her head. "Have I mentioned that you're insane?"

"And enjoying every minute of it."

"I guess the ice cream part of the plan could work."

Lorelai grinned. "Ice cream it is."

*

They emerged from the ice cream shop holding triple scoop cones that balanced precariously under the pressure of licking tongues. "So what about your Chilton-y more than friend?" Rory said, trying to keep the ice cream drips from reaching her hand.

"Are you referring to El Duche?" Lorelai answered.

"Yes, your secret affair with the headmaster."

"Darn it. I thought I had covered my tracks... It was all for you, you know. And I think you'll thank me when you see your report card." Lorelai took a bite of ice cream, and glanced over at Rory. "I don't know, Rory," she said. "I mean, I love Max. I really do. And the thing with the daisies is just..."

"Incredible," Rory supplied.

"To put it bluntly, yeah. But it's a really big decision, you know?"

"Yeah, you've never been married before."

"Exactly. And I think I kind of like it that way," Lorelai said. She put her arm around Rory and bumped her playfully with her hip. Rory bumped back and tried to keep the top of her ice cream from falling to the sidewalk. "We have a good thing going here, kid."

Rory nodded. "But..."

"I don't know," Lorelai said. "I just...have to think about it some more I guess."

"Thinking is overrated," Rory said, using her tongue in an attempt to shape her ice cream into a lopsided duck.

"Says the smartest girl I know."

Rory smiled. "Just keep me in the loop once you figure it out."

"You and me *are* the loop," Lorelai said. "It's kind of a line rather than a loop, but you're point B to my point A."

"Good, cause..." Rory looked up from her ice cream as she ran into someone. "Oh," she said when her eyes met Dean's. "Oops. That was... I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he said, meeting her eyes. She met his gaze for a long moment, her heart stuck in her throat, then looked down when she felt ice cream dripping onto her hand.

"Well, I'll see you around," she muttered, and stepped around him. He turned as she and Lorelai continued walking.

"Wait!" he said. She stopped and turned to face him. "I mean," he said. "Can we talk?" She looked at Lorelai in confusion, then shrugged.

"I've got to stop by Luke's anyway," Lorelai said. "Nothing goes better with ice cream than coffee."

"You'd say nothing goes better with tuna-fish than coffee."

"Well, it's true." Lorelai held up her ice cream in a salute. "Bye, Dean." Then she turned and strolled away, leaving Rory to shoot Dean a nervous look.

"Um, let's talk then," Rory said.

"Do you want to sit?" Dean said, looking across the street to the park.

"No, let's stand," Rory said. "Here in the middle of the sidewalk is good, but maybe it'd be even better if we moved to the middle of the road."

"Rory," he started. "I don't know what's going on. You were at my house.

She shook her head. "Me? Nope."

"My sister recognized you from the pictures."

Rory blushed. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was- You still have pictures of me?"

"And then at the town meeting... The stuff about the song."

"I'm insane," she said. "It runs in the family."

"So what then? You weren't- None of this was about me."

She hesitated, then shook her head. He studied her intently, his eyes on hers. Then he shrugged. "Okay, Rory. Never mind." He turned.

"Yes," she said. He stopped. "It was about you." He turned to face her.

"What do you want Rory?"

"I don't know," she said, fighting confused tears. "I miss you."

He tilted his head, and spoke softly. "I miss you too."

"Good," she said. "I mean, that's not good. But it is." She took a deep shaky breath.

"But that doesn't tell me... I mean, do you want to get back together? Or what are you doing? What are you thinking? I need-"

"I just," she said. "I care about you so much. And I do want to be with you. I never wanted us to breakup."

"I love you, Rory," he said. "I do. I'm not just saying that. And I need to know-"

"Dean," she said. "Why does it have to be... Why can't I just feel how I feel? Why do we have to put these labels on it?"

"Because I can't be with you if you don't-"

"I don't even know what that kind of love is," she said. His jaw clenched. "But I know I've never felt the way I feel about you. I don't feel that way about anyone else."

He stood still for a moment, looking at his hands, then he raised his eyes and gave her a small smile. "Then do you want to get some dinner later tonight?"

She nodded eagerly, and dropped her ice cream with a splat, when he moved closer. She wrapped her hands in his hair, and he pressed his lips to hers, kissing soft at first, tentative, then harder. His arms wrapped around her waist, his hands pressed to her back; and she was so consumed, she didn't even notice that Miss Patty was standing in the door to her studio dialing on her cell phone.

*

"Well," Lorelai said as Rory entered the house, her face flushed. "Aren't you the little tramp. First in the supermarket, then in the middle of town? I thought I raised my daughter better than that. Back-seat of the car I told you, but did you listen?"

Rory turned a brighter shade of red, but she was grinning from ear to ear. "Miss Patty?"

"Actually, it was Kirk, who heard from Jackson, who heard from Trevor, who heard from-"

"Got it," Rory said.

"So?" Lorelai said, her eyes dancing. "So? Details! Sordid details!"

"We're back together," Rory said, grabbing her mom's hands. Lorelai started to jump and Rory joined her. "He asked me to dinner, and then we kissed, and I dropped my ice cream."

"We'll get you a new one!" Lorelai said, drawing her daughter into a hug. "This is great, babe. I'm just glad to see you happy again."

"I am," Rory said. "Happy, I mean."

"So this was a banner weekend for you," Lorelai said when the hug ended. "PJ Harvey. Non-fighting with Tristan. You and Dean. All you need now is to be crowed Miss America, and win the lottery."

"Oh yeah, the crown's in my pocket," Rory said. "In all the excitement I forget to tell you."

"Ooh...did you remember to act surprised when they gave it to you?" Lorelai said. "And to cry? You have to cry when they put the crown on you."

"It was great. I cried, but my make-up stayed perfect." She grinned. "I have to call Lane!" She ran into the kitchen to get the phone, and Lorelai watched her go, humming "Here she is, Miss America" under her breath.


	2. Part Two

**Examination**

PART TWO

Rory put her math book back in her locker, and retrieved her English notebook. She closed the door and realized Tristan was leaning against the wall behind her.

"Hey!" she said.

"Hey," he said, slightly subdued. She looked at him more closely. His blond hair was more messy than usual, his nose was a little red, and his blue eyes seemed tired.

"You look terrible," she said.

"Thanks," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"No, I mean...are you sick or something?"

"It's just a cold," he said.

Her eyes widened. "Because of the rain?" she said. "Oh God! I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said, then turned his head aside to sneeze loudly. He swiped at his nose with the back of his hand. "I had a great time."

"Yeah, but I should have asked you in," she said. "You could have dried off or changed clothes or-"

"Geez," he interrupted. "How desperate are you to get a glimpse of me without my clothes on?" He smirked at her, but she ignored the comment.

"I didn't think," she said. "I feel so bad."

"Well," he said speculatively. "You could always make it up to me somehow."

She raised her eyebrows warily. "I don't even want to ask."

He snorted. "Your opinion of me is so flattering. Why is it you think everything I say is about sex?"

"Because it usually is," she said.

"Oh come on," he joked, "only eighty percent of what I say is sex related." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Of course if you *want* to make it up to me with sex, I'm not going to say no."

"Don't push your luck," she said, making a *get to the point* gesture with her hand.

"Actually, I was hoping you could be my study buddy," he said

She looked at him doubtfully. "Studying. One person activity, remember?"

"Okay," he said. "I just thought there's a lot of material to cover, and two person studying means we could help each other out with weak spots." He placed his hand on his chest, and ducked his head. "Personally, I can never wrap my brain around Dickinson, and I have it on good authority that you aced that section of the course."

Rory's lower lip jutted as she considered it. "I guess it couldn't hurt," she said. "But I need to actually study. If this is a social call in disguise, save it for summer when my grades aren't on the line."

"This is totally professional," he said. "I get grades too you know."

"Right, I forgot," she said. "Thought you were just taking the classes for fun."

The bell rang and Rory looked over at the clock on the wall. "I've got to go," she said.

"I'll talk to you at lunch," he said.

"Okay," she answered, and headed toward her science class. Paris stood in her way, and Rory narrowed her eyes. "What?" she said. "I thought you weren't talking to me."

"I'm not," Paris said.

"Then get out of my way."

"I saw you and Tristan together," Paris said.

"Well, we aren't invisible so I guess that proves you aren't blind. Congratulations."

"I just think if you're going to try to lie to me, you might want to make it a little less obvious," she said.

"What are you talking about?" Rory said in exasperation. "I have a class to go to."

"If you want me to think you aren't interested in Tristan, maybe the two of you should refrain from making out in the hall."

"First. We were talking. If you can't tell the difference that may explain your luck with guys. And second. As of yesterday I have a boyfriend, and his name is Dean. Does that sound like Tristan to you? No? Then why don't you take your foot out of your mouth and get out of my way." She brushed by Paris, knocking into her shoulder as she passed.

Paris huffed under her breath, looking down the hall to see Tristan standing outside a classroom listening. Their eyes met for a second, then they both looked away, and Paris moved down the hall toward her class.

*

Rory held her lunch tray uncertainly, looking for an empty table. She couldn't sit with Paris and the others, and she didn't know anyone well enough to just sit down at their table without being invited.

"This way," Tristan said suddenly behind her, and she shot him a relieved glance. She followed him to a half-full table. He waved casually at the people sitting at one end of the table, then they sat down at the empty end.

"Want me to introduce you to some people?" he said.

She shook her head. "Not really. We have a week left of school. What's the point?"

He grabbed an apple off his tray. "You're not missing much anyway." He bit down on the apple with a loud crunch, and Rory picked at the macaroni and cheese congealing on her tray. "You'd think the food would be better," he said swallowing his bite of apple. "I mean considering the cost of tuition."

Rory nodded. "I guess it goes to show school food is legally required to suck."

Tristan nodded and took another bite of his apple. "So when do you want to get together?" he said.

"I'm gonna say, sometime before finals start."

"Good idea. Now if you could narrow that down a little." He tossed aside the core of his apple. "I have a project due Wednesday for Chemistry."

"And I have one due Thursday for French."

"Well, finals start next Monday so that gives us the weekend." He leaned back in his chair and grinned. "Maybe I should just spend a couple nights at your house. We could share a bed. For warmth, you know." He started to give her a leer, but was interrupted by another sneeze.

Rory laughed. "How about we fly to the moon and spend the weekend there," she said. "Cause that's about as likely to happen."

"Well, I might be able to get my dad to loan me the rocket." Tristan mock frowned. "But booking the space station will be tough without reservations."

"Let me know how that goes," Rory said.

"So, Friday?" he said. "That way I can drive you home."

"You don't have to do that," Rory said.

"Fine, you can take the bus," he said, rolling his eyes. "Reject my car in favor of city transportation. Thanks a lot, Rory. I feel really great right about now."

"Well, you know how your car offends me. It doesn't go well with my outfit." She plucked at her Chilton vest with a grin.

"I've got a whole week to get it painted," he said. "What do you want, silver, black?"

"How about...orange with pink stripes?"

"And you think *that* will go with your outfit?" he asked. "Are you by any chance color blind?"

"Leave the car the way it is," Rory said with an exaggerated sigh. "I guess I can suck it up and ride in a red car, but just this once."

"Good," Tristan said. He glanced at his watch. "Are you going to be okay here? I have to go talk to Miss. Walsh about some extra credit."

"Sure," she said. "I was planning to go to the library anyway."

He clutched his chest. "Shocking. I think my heart just stopped."

"Shut up," she said cheerfully.

"If you insist." He sneezed again, this time a tiny choked snort of air. Rory grinned.

"That was the cutest sneeze ever," she said.

"That's cause I am the cutest thing ever," he said, jutting his chin at her. She rolled her eyes, and he smiled as he stood up with his tray. She watched him as he left the room. One hand in his pocket, he strolled confidently out the door nodding his head to people he knew as he passed them. She wondered what it felt like to be that confident, that fearless, that sure you belonged. She looked down at her half-eaten lunch and stuck out her tongue, then she gathered up her tray, dumped it and headed for the library.

*  
"Paris, wait up," Tristan said, jogging unhurriedly to catch up with her as she headed for the parking lot. She turned, books clutched in her arms, and waited.

"What?" she said, her voice harsh.

"Why don't you give her a break?" he said. She curled her lip and started walking again. He kept pace, tucking a pencil behind his ear, and pulling off his blazer. He draped it over his arm, and reached up to loosen his tie. She glanced over at him, then spoke angrily.

"Begging on your girlfriend's behalf is really pathetic," she said. "It's not like you."

"She's not my girlfriend," Tristan said, unable to keep the bitter edge from his voice. "We both know that."

"Whatever."

"Paris," he said. "She didn't lie to you."

"It was a mistake letting my guard down," Paris said. "It won't happen again."

He grabbed her arm, and she stared at his hand, her eyes wide. "It wasn't a mistake," he said.

"Why are you defending her?" Paris said, hoping he couldn't feel her trembling. "If she doesn't want you."

Tristan paused, his head bent in thought as he considered the question. He met Paris' eyes, and she caught her breath. "Because it's not her fault," he said. "I can't make her feel something she doesn't." He looked away, and muttered more softly. "And I can't change the way I feel just because she doesn't feel the same."

Paris blinked hard against too bright eyes, and pulled her arm away. "Is it worth it?" she asked softly.

He shrugged. "I don't know yet." They stared at each other in the moment of silence, sharing an unspoken understanding, both knowing what it felt like to be helpless under the crush of feelings unasked for and unshakeable.

"I'll think about it," she said, and hurried to her car.


	3. Part Three

**Examination**

PART THREE

Rory was busy putting the final touches on the French project due Thursday when the phone rang. She stepped over the piles of research and posterboard spread all over the room, and snatched the phone off the hook on the third ring.

"Hello?" she said.

"Hi, Rory."

"Dean," she said, smiling. "What's up?"

"I live in the house where nothing is ever up," he said. "I'm just watching tv."

"Anything I'd approve of?"

"I don't know. It's an old Nightrider rerun."

"So at least David Hasselhoff is clothed."

"But on the downside, he's still David Hasselhoff," Dean said. "What about you?"

"I am both clothed and not David Hasselhoff," she said.

"Well, one out of two's not bad."

"I'm working on a project for Chilton." She flopped down on her bed.

"Don't they ever give you guys a break?"

"Yeah, it's called summer vacation. It starts next week," Rory said with a grin.

"So I guess seeing you tonight is a no-go then."

"Pretty much," Rory said. "This thing is due tomorrow."

"Okay, what about Friday? We could catch a movie?"

"I don't know," she said. "Tristan's coming over to study with me. We should be done before prime movie-viewing time. But I'm not sure how fun I'll be after cramming miscellaneous factoids about Shakespeare and Dickinson for hours on end."

"Tristan?" Dean said.

"Yeah, he's-"

"I remember," Dean interrupted. "He practically assaulted me at the dance."

"He's nicer now," Rory said.

"And he has a thing for you." She paused. "Rory?" he finally said.

"Yeah," she said.

"The silence isn't very reassuring."

"Well, he *may* have a thing for me," she said uncomfortably. "But I was really clear that I only want to be friends, and he knows that and agreed that friends it is."

"Don't be naive, Rory," Dean said. "He's just biding his time."

"What is he a leopard waiting to pounce?"

"That's one way to describe it."

"Look," she said. "I have zero friends at Chilton right now outside of him. Zero. And for the past month, with a few slip-ups I admit, we've been getting along. And at the concert we really had fun, so I'm not going to apologize for being friends with him."

"The concert?"

"Yeah, we went to PJ Harvey last weekend."

"And you didn't tell me?"

"A lot of stuff happened while we weren't together," Rory said. "It's not like I was hiding it from you. I just haven't had time to get you up to speed on everything."

"Yeah, but it was just last-"

"What is the issue?" Rory said, her voice rising. "You have nothing to worry about. Tristan is my friend. End of story."

"I'm not trying to be a prick," Dean said. "But I don't think he sees it that way. I just don't believe he's over you."

"That doesn't matter," Rory said. "It's not his decision who I'm with. He could be in love with me for all the difference it makes. You don't have to trust him, just trust me."

"Okay," Dean said. "Okay, you're right." He took a deep breath. "Sorry about the descent into jealous boyfriendliness. I know I'm being irrational."

"The first step is recognizing you have a problem," Rory said, smiling again.

"I'll have to stop skipping my Irrational Anonymous meetings."

"I hear they have coffee at those."

"Even more reason for the not skipping." Dean paused. "So now that I'm on the road to rehabilitation, can I see you sometime in the next two years?"

"Yeah, January 2003 is free," Rory joked.

"Or what about this weekend?"

"I want to," Rory said. "But finals are next week, and I really have to study. I've heard horrible stories about how hard these things are. People have lost limbs."

"You'd rather study than go to the movies with me?" he said.

"It's not really my choice. It's necessary."

Dean sighed. "I know. It just sucks. We're back together, and I never see you. *Tristan* gets to see you more than me."

"But as soon as school's out, you'll get to see me all the time," she said. "I'll set up a tent in your yard."

"Can we make a fort out of pillows?"

"Totally."

"And play cowboys and Indians?"

"I think we call them Native Americans now."

"And play cowboys and Native Americans?"

"What if I want to be the cowboy?"

"And play cowpeople and Native Americans?" Dean laughed.

"Yes."

"Then you go do your Chilton thing, and I'll be gathering the supplies. Flashlights, stuff for making s'mores, blankies, pillows," he began to recite the list.

"I love it that you have a plan."

"Well, I try."

"I'll talk to you later."

"Okay."

"Bye." There was a pause. "Dean?"

"I hung up on you."

"Oh, my bad. Bye."

"Bye."

Rory hung up and tossed the phone onto her dresser. She settled back down to her project and tried to concentrate on translating a passage from Rousseau. After a few minutes she realized she had no idea what she was reading and looked up. She was thinking about them, Dean and Tristan, and she wasn't even doing it in French. 'Bad, Rory!' she scolded herself. Then she sighed and replayed the phone conversation in her mind. She had to admit it had been awkward; it was harder than she'd thought to just pick up where she and Dean had left off. Some things had changed. And she felt like both she and Dean were more cautious this time. There were barriers between them now, walls they'd built out of the pain of the breakup...and their timing wasn't helping. There were so many other things going on; she didn't have the time to work on their relationship. She grimaced and picked up the Rousseau. She reminded herself that it was only a week until finals were over. Then she and Dean would have plenty of time to figure it all out.

*

"Madam," Tristan said grandly, opening the passenger's side door of his car.

"I can open a door, you know," Rory said, dumping her backpack behind the seat. "I'm not incompetent."

"Ruin my grand gesture why don't you." She curled her lip in mock anger, and slid past him to the seat, strands of her hair clinging to his shirt. He closed his eyes, and jerked away. He took off his blazer, tossed it in the back, climbed in on the driver's side, and pulled out of the parking lot.

"So how did the French project go?" he asked.

Rory groaned. "I don't even know. I was so tired by the time I finished it that I have no idea what I was saying when I got up in front of the class."

"Don't worry," he said. "I heard rumblings that it was very impressive."

"Rumblings from where?" she asked.

"I never reveal my sources."

"What about your Chemistry project?"

"I kicked ass."

"And he's so modest too," she said sarcastically. "What doesn't this boy have?"

Tristan grinned. "Just telling it like it is."

He reached down beneath the seat, and she grimaced. "Eyes on the road please."

"Are you sure you're not an old lady trapped in a teenager's body?" he said. His hand emerged from beneath the seat, and he tossed a CD into her lap. "You forgot it the other night."

"My PJ Harvey. I can't believe I didn't even realize..."

"I've been listening to it," he said. "I hope you don't mind." He pressed the play button on the CD player.

"Of course not." Rory cocked her head as a CD began to play. "Space Lord?" she said with a grin. "I thought you hated this song."

"No, I hate this band. The song's okay." He grinned. "I just want to see you sing the part where he asks for his mommy."

She gave him a challenging look, waiting a moment for the chorus to begin and then belted it out, "Space Lord, mother, mother!" She bounced in her seat along with the beat. Tristan began to bounce his head with her and screamed out the line the next time it played. She noticed a woman staring at them from another car, and started to laugh.

"We're scaring the other motorists."

"Nah," Tristan said. "They're just amazed that we aren't in a famous band ourselves since we have as much talent as these guys."

"You overestimate your talent by a lot," Rory said. "But you're completely right about *my* talent." She grinned.

"Okay," he said when the song ended. "That's enough of that." He pressed another button on the player and a new CD started.

"Is this _Dry_?"

"Yeah, I bought a couple of the earlier PJ Harvey CDs."

"Wow, you look so much cooler to me now," Rory said squinting at him.

"Wow, you are pretty shallow."

"Yes, I am."

"I like it," he grinned. She laughed, and began to dance in her seat again, waving at the driver who was staring as he passed them.

*  
Rory sat cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table. Both the coffee table and the floor around her were covered with notes roughly sorted by subject. Tristan sat on the other side of the table, his head resting on one bent knee.

"That's the problem with Dickinson for me," he said. "It seems so simple, that I think I'm getting it, and then it turns out I completely missed the point because there's some deeper meaning I wasn't even looking at."

"That's what I love about her," Rory said. "She's got layers. Some people see her as writing these cute little poems, but really she's talking about some serious stuff like the unanswered questions of the universe."

"Okay, what about 'A Fly Buzzed,'" he said. "I know it's about death."

"Cause of that whole 'when i died' part?"

"That was my first hint."

"But what's the point of the fly? Does it mean death is insignificant? Or is it saying that humanity is insignificant, and our belief in the significance of our own deaths is overrated?"

"How many times did you just say significant?" Rory said, grinning.

"Shut up," Tristan said. "You think of another word."

"Importance?"

"Shut up again."

Rory laughed. "I think that the second significance is more significant." She grinned and Tristan grimaced at her. "Because you have this solemn, grave moment with all the relatives gathered around to watch this crossing over to the other side. It's a big deal. And then there's the fly, which is this annoyance and-" The phone rang loudly, and she looked around, startled. "Just a sec."

She cocked her head, listening, then felt around a pile of notes, and discovered the phone shoved half underneath the sofa. "Hello?"

"Rory."

"Dean." She noticed the way Tristan's jaw clenched. He sat back, uncomfortable. She hesitated. "Just a sec," she said. She covered the mouthpiece, and looked at Tristan. "Why don't you go make us a pot of coffee?" He met her eyes, and she flinched slightly at the hurt she saw before he blinked it away. He rose gracefully and headed for the kitchen. She uncovered the mouthpiece. "Hey."

"Still studying?"

"Yeah," she said. "We're talking Dickinson, later we're gonna have a discussion about the Hapsburgs and whether Maria Theresa could have taken over the world if she hadn't had all those kids." There was a bang from the kitchen. She stared at the open kitchen door and wished for x-ray vision.

"Uh, sounds like fun."

"And at some point there will be pre-calculus."

"Even more fun."

"Yeah, I hope I don't keel over from the excitement."

"That would be less fun."

"If that's even possible."

"And Tristan?" Dean said. "How's that-" There was a crash and then a whirring noise from the kitchen. She grimaced.

"Look, I've got to go."

"Right," Dean said. "Okay."

"I'm not blowing you off," she said. "Only I am. But I'll make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. "Give me a call when you're done."

"Great." She hung up the phone and ran to the kitchen. "What the heck are you doing in here?"

"I'm trying to make coffee," Tristan said, rubbing at the back of his neck absently. They both stared at the coffee maker.

"Well?" Rory said. "What's all the noise?"

"I uh-" Tristan said. "I've never made coffee." Rory's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open.

"What do you live in a cave?"

"No, there's a cook at my house. And there's a Starbucks a couple blocks away..." he said sheepishly.

"Yeah, but...this is just...sad."

He snorted. "Like not knowing how to make coffee is going to make or break my future."

"It's going to put a serious crimp in your career as a secretary."

"Right," he said. "But I'll distract my boss from my inability to make coffee with my stellar filing skills. And of course, my skimpy outfits." Rory put the phone on the counter and grabbed the coffee and a filter.

"Skimpy outfits can't get you everywhere in life. You must know this," she said.

"I think you underestimate the value of skimpy outfits."

"Just watch." She put the filter in the machine, then poured in the coffee. "Even a moron could make coffee," she said. "Not necessarily good coffee but..."

"Are you calling me a moron?" Tristan asked, trying not to notice the way his heart was pounding, or the nervous flutter in his stomach when she reached for the coffee pot and her arm brushed against his. She seemed to feel his eyes on her, and looked up from the coffee maker. She met his eyes, her movements slowing, then stopping. She shook herself a little, and filled the pot with water; sudden nervousness causing her grip on the pot to slip, she sloshed water over the side of the sink.

"Who's a moron now?" he asked snidely.

She chuckled, relieved to find herself back on familiar ground. She poured the water into the machine, flipped the switch and replaced the pot. "Easy," she said. "It's just. Filter, coffee, water, and turn it on."

"I *am* a moron."

"Are you expecting me to contradict you?"

"Not expecting, just hoping."

"No dice, mister." She shifted her weight nervously. "Now we just wait. So back to the books."

"Right," Tristan said. He hesitated, then blurted out, "So you and Dean are back together?"

Rory twisted her hands uncomfortably. "Yeah," she said. "I didn't tell you because I thought..."

"It would be awkward." He stopped studying the tip of his shoe and caught the guilty look she was giving him. "Thank God you were wrong." He smiled at the blatantly false statement, and saw some of the tension go out of her shoulders.

"Yeah, what a relief." She smiled back. "It just... I mean, now that I know...."

"Rory, I'm a big boy," he said, his voice carefully casual. "And you're overestimating your own importance if you think seeing you with another guy is going to drive me off the deep end." She looked at him doubtfully. "And you think *I'm* conceited?"

"I wasn't doing it to be conceited," she said. "I just didn't want to hurt you." His lip curled up into a half smile, hiding the twisting of his gut as he fought the urge to kiss her or tell her Dean was a jerk or just bask in the fact that she'd shown even the slightest concern for him.

"Don't worry about me," he said. "I can take care of myself."

"You're right," she said. She looked away. "I uh...we should start on the Hapsburgs. I want to go over the War of Austrian Succession."

"Hapsburgs it is."

*

Tristan glanced over at Rory, sitting next to him on the floor. Her head was bent over a piece of paper where she was working on a particularly difficult equation. Her legs were crossed, her knee millimeters from touching his. He could almost feel the heat of her skin, or maybe it was the heat of his own. He was burning up, flush with her nearness. He jerked his eyes from her face to the paper, but the rebellious orbs drifted away again, catching on the shine of her hair. He sighed.

"Help," she said. "I'm stuck." He looked at the paper again, his eyes scanning the neat columns of numbers.

"Look," he said pointing. "You just have to substitute x here."

She looked at it again. "And graph the fraction?"

"Exactly. You're going to ace this one."

"I'll settle for a B+," she said.

"Well, aren't you a rebel," he grinned.

"I just don't care anymore," she grinned back. "I could go on a rampage at any moment."

"There's a scary thought."

"Want more coffee?" she said.

"Sure," he answered. Holding up his hand, he jokingly made it tremble and shake. "I wasn't planning on sleeping for the next month anyway."

She jumped up and headed for the kitchen, stopping when the front door opened. "Mom," she said. "How was work?"

"Coffee," Lorelai answered. "Coffee!" She rushed for the kitchen, and Rory followed. "We had an entire contingent of Swedish businessmen at the Inn today. Do you know any Swedish? Of course not, neither do I. Plus talking like the Swedish chef just wasn't working at all, darn those muppets with their fake Swedishness. We had to communicate with hand signals, and I think I accidentally agreed to marry one of them and told another I owned seven cows."

"Sounds fun."

Lorelai poured herself a cup of coffee and cupped it in her hands. "Sweet elixir of life!" she said. "I love you." She stroked the bottom of the mug tenderly.

Rory laughed. "You and coffee seem to have taken your relationship up a notch. How is your Swedish fiancee going to feel about this?"

"He'll have to learn to love us both." She ducked her head and peered out the kitchen window. "Is that Tristan's car?"

"Yeah," Rory said.

"Nice. Is he still here or did you steal if?"

"He's still here. We're just finishing up with the pre-calculus part of the study decathlon. Next up is more English."

"Maybe I should sit next to you so when the knowledge dribbles out your ears, it flows into me," Lorelai said, heading for the living room. Tristan stood up when she entered the room, and she nodded. "Tristan, I presume."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good lord, boy. Do I look like a ma'am to you?"

"Uh..." he said. "No?"

"Good answer. Just call me Lorelai. Or Tiny if you prefer. I always wanted someone to call me Tiny." She extended her hand, and he shook it. She looked at her watch. "Are either of you interested in pizza, because I'm starving."

Tristan looked at his watch as well. "Maybe I should go?" he said, making it a question. He looked at Rory.

"No, it's okay," she said. "We still need to review the unit on Shakespeare."

"I've always thought pizza and Shakespeare are a perfect match!" Lorelai interjected.

"Nothing says iambic pentameter like melted cheese," Rory agreed.

"I can tell when I'm outnumbered," Tristan said.

"I'll call," Lorelai said. "You two can study until I get back, but then I'm going to need you to entertain me."

"We should get to work on that Two Stooges routine then," Tristan said to Rory as Lorelai returned to the kitchen to find the phone.

"Right, how does it go...I poke you in the eyes and slam you in the face with a pie?"

"And then I fall down the stairs and you kick me," Tristan added.

"What a genius idea."

"I thought you'd like it."

*

Tristan sat up suddenly, lifting his head from the coffee table where he'd fallen asleep. He winced at the sharp pain in his neck, and rolled his shoulders. He glanced at his watch, then looked around for Rory. She was asleep, her head resting on the table on top of her bent arms. He scooted closer and hesitated a moment, unsure whether he should touch her. He ached with the desire to run his fingers through the hair draped over her face, touch her full lips, slide his hand down the length of her spine. He shivered, and reached out, his fingers grazing her shoulder. She twitched, but her eyes stayed closed. He shook her gently.

"Rory," he said softly. She moved again, and he shook a little harder. "Rory get up."

"Tired," she muttered.

"I have to go," he said. "It's late."

"Have to go," she repeated, uncomprehending, half-asleep.

"Rory," he said and gently pushed the hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. "You need to get up. I know from experience that you're sleeping in the most uncomfortable position known to man."

"I was comfy," she pouted. She opened her eyes a crack, still dazed. "What time is it?"

"It's three in the morning," he said. "We must have fallen asleep somewhere after Byron. Or Keats maybe."

She sat up, wincing as her muscles protested. "Ouch," she said. She pulled herself over to the couch and curled up on it. "Better."

He smiled. "I'll see you on Monday."

"But what about Keats?" she said, her eyes half-closed again. "We didn't finish. And we didn't even start on Shelley."

"You can do those tomorrow when you wake up," he said, standing beside the couch. He reached over, pulled a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over her, tucking her in. She snuggled under the covers with a smile on her face.

"Yeah, we can do them tomorrow," she said.

"We?" he repeated, his heart giving a sudden odd jump.

"Yeah, we should also do some French with the past parti-parci-partiple," she mumbled.

"Okay," he said. He bent over and brushed his hand over the top of her head. "Night, Rory."

"Night, Tristan," she echoed, her breathing already slowing as she drifted back to sleep.

He let himself out, and rubbed at his eyes, taking deep breaths of the chilly night air to wake himself. He slid in behind the wheel of his car and sat for a moment. Should he come over the next day or not? Would she even remember that she'd invited him? What did the invitation mean? It was almost as if she really did like him, really wanted to be around him. He crushed the thought, the hope that tried to blossom. She was just too tired to know what she was saying, and she'd be annoyed if he came and interrupted her private study time. He clutched the steering wheel, and closed his eyes, seeing again her sleeping face, feeling her hair under his hand. He'd come tomorrow, and if she hadn't meant it, she could kick him out. At least he'd have an excuse to see her again for a few seconds. That decided, he started the car and headed home.


	4. Part Four

**Examination**

**PART FOUR**

Rory woke to the smell of coffee brewing. She opened her eyes and looked around, realizing she was on the couch. She squinted, trying to remember what had happened the night before. Everything was pretty fuzzy after Byron. She must have dozed off. She looked over at the table. And Tristan must have left. She clutched the blanket that covered her body. She thought she remembered Tristan tucking her in. And she had a vague sense of warmth at the almost memory. Happy, filling warmth. Weird. She looked up as Lorelai entered the room with two mugs of coffee.

"Hey, babe," she said. "You look happy."

"I must have had good dreams," Rory said.

Lorelai stepped carefully between piles of notes, and handed Rory one of the mugs. "It's like a library exploded in here," she said.

"It's our new carpet," Rory said. "Don't you like? It's both beautiful and educational."

"Beautiful is debatable, hon," Lorelai said, perching on the arm of the couch. "Though your handwriting is very nice."

"Too bad there are no finals in penmanship."

"How late did you guys stay up? I conked out around 11:30. Which, I know proves I am an old lady, and a wimpy one at that."

"I'm not sure," Rory said. "I think we fell asleep some time during Byron. Or right after. I remember a little bit of Keats."

"Rory, promise me after you get done with finals, you'll stop telling time by reciting poet's names."

"Okay," Rory said, taking a sip of her coffee and snuggling deeper beneath the covers. "I guess Tristan left while I was sleeping. I don't really remember."

"Poor boy had to drive home at half-past Keats. I hope he didn't fall asleep at the wheel and hit a tree or something."

"Mom," Rory said. "That's not funny."

"You're right, bad taste."

"What time is it?" Rory asked.

"It's a quarter 'til Coleridge," Lorelai said. She returned her daughter's annoyed gaze calmly. "What? You started it." She looked at her watch. "It's 10:30."

"I should get up," Rory said.

"At some point yes, because I plan to use that couch for sitting on later and you're just not as comfortable as the cushions." She tapped Rory's leg. "Too lumpy."

Rory giggled. "I have a lot to do."

"Then do," she said. "Rise and go forth."

"Don't wanna," Rory said.

"And you call yourself a school nerd?"

"No, I don't."

"Oh right, that's what *I* call you." Lorelai grinned and shook her daughter's shoulder. "Get up and play with me!"

"I can't," Rory said, covering her head with the blanket. "I have to study." She hid under the covers until her mom started to grab at her ribs through the cloth, finding her most ticklish spot with ease. Rory yelped, and squirmed free, jumping off the couch. She ran for her room with Lorelai right behind her and closed the door microseconds before her mom reached it.

"I'll get you next time, you wascally wabbit," Lorelai called through the door.

"Run, run, run as fast as you can," Rory taunted. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Your rhyme sort of fell apart there at the end," Lorelai said. "Weren't you supposed to say something about gingerbread?"

"I was taking artistic license."

"Fair enough. Come get yourself some breakfast when you're out."

"I will do that without a doubt."

"Don't rhyme with me, it's disturbing, like that mirror game."

"That game I will admit is lame."

"Rory, you are annoying."

"And my perfume is cloying."

"I give up!" Lorelai walked away, stomping her feet against the ground in mock anger. Rory laughed as she opened her dresser to pick out a change of clothes.

*

Rory sat at the coffee table after breakfast and tried to concentrate on studying her notes on Keats. Her mind was refusing to cooperate, wandering away from the work, and she couldn't seem to focus. She grimaced at the page of notes and started over, taking a deep breath. She tried reading the words out loud, to force herself to pay attention. She tossed the paper down and leaned back against the bottom of the couch. What was wrong with her? She and Tristan had gotten so much done the day before, and now she was useless. She propped her head up on her hand, and thought about studying the day before. It had been fun, much more fun than studying usually was, but they'd been working the whole time. Maybe I'm just drained, she thought. Or Keats just isn't that interesting. She rubbed at her eyes and tried to start the page again.

There was a knock at the door, and she eagerly seized the interruption. 'I'll get it!" she called, and rushed for the door. She opened it, and faced Tristan, who was running a hand through his hair and gazing off at the gnomes in Babette's yard. He turned to face her.

"Hey," she said, her eyebrows contracting in puzzlement. "What are you doing here? Did you forget a notebook?"

"Uh, no," Tristan said. He held up the thick notebook that was tucked under his other arm. "I brought my notes on Shelly and the past participle."

"Okay..." Rory said, still confused. "Why?"

"Oh," Tristan said awkwardly. "Well, you invited me back last night."

Rory gave him a lost look. "I don't really remember anything from last night."

"Not even our fabulous make-out session?" he said with a leer. She snorted. He kept a nonchalant half-smile on his face, despite the disappointment, and shrugged his shoulders. "That's okay," he said. "You were pretty out of it." He turned. "I'll just get out of your hair."

"Wait," she said. He turned his head toward her and waited. "You drove all this way."

He dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "I needed a break anyway. It's a nice drive."

"Yeah, but..." Rory said. "If I did invite you..." She opened the door wider. "You should... We can just go over a few..." He raised an eyebrow at her broken sentence fragments.

"Maybe you should add an ending to one of those sentences," he said.

"I don't want you to have driven all this way for nothing..." She trailed off.

"Are you inviting me in?"

"I guess I am." Tristan smiled. "Only because I do want to go over the past participle," she added quickly.

"Of course," he said. She stepped back from the door, and he entered the house with a triumphant grin.

Rory led him back to the table, a flutter of excitement twisting in her chest. She shuffled through some of the papers to find her French notes. He sat down on the floor, and she sat next to him, her face heated and prickly. She brushed at her forehead with the back of her hand. Was she sweating? She dropped some of the papers in her nervousness, then stood up. "Uh, wait here a sec," she said. "I think I left some of my French notes in my room from when I was working on my project before, my project from Thursday, the notes on Rousseau and some..." She realized she was babbling and shut her mouth with a snap. "Stay here." She turned and hurried to her room, closing the door behind her. She leaned against the smooth wooden surface, and put her hands to her heated cheeks. What was she doing? What was wrong with her?

Tristan stared at her bedroom door and fiddled nervously with the smooth white bead lying in the hollow of his throat. He'd never seen Rory react that way to anything before. She'd seemed completely rattled. If it was anyone else he'd have said she was attracted to him. But it was Rory, and she'd never been attracted to him. He hoped he hadn't upset her by springing himself on her. He was still slightly surprised she'd even let him in. Maybe it was something else entirely. Like she was freaking about finals. Or one of her friends had... He turned his gaze on the notes in front of him. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He was just here to study. Completely pure motives. Right.

Rory pulled her hands away from her face. "I'm just surprised," she muttered. "I didn't know he was coming." A tiny voice inside her whispered that she was glad he had, and she batted it away. Of course she was glad, they'd made a good study team the night before. She looked at the French papers on her desk and grabbed them. She took a deep breath. It's just Tristan, she reminded herself, then opened the door and returned to the living room. He looked up when he heard her returning.

She smiled and held up the notes. "See."

"Wow, notes!" he said. "I haven't seen anything like that before."

She laughed, looking at the papers spread out anywhere. "Yeah," she said. "They're endangered. The last of their kind." She hesitated, then took a seat at the head of the table rather than sitting beside him along the side. "Right," she said, not meeting his eyes. "Let's get started."

*

"What about this verb?" Tristan asked.

"It's irregular," Rory answered.

"I can see that."

"What do you want to know then? It's divorced. Has three kids."

"I'm not trying to write it a personal ad. How do you conjugate it?"

She looked at the paper. "Okay, it's just like this one." She pointed to another verb.

Lorelai bounced down the stairs, and they both looked over. "Hi Tristan," she said. "I didn't know you were coming again today."

"Neither did I," Rory said, giving Tristan a teasing smile.

"Just think how lucky you are to get such a wonderful surprise," Tristan answered.

"I'm blessed," Rory said.

"I'm going to the store, blessed girl," Lorelai broke in. "We have nothing to eat in this house but a half-full jar of jam." She shoved her keys into her pocket. "Try not to spontaneously combust while I'm gone."

"We'll try," Tristan said.

"But no promises," Rory finished.

"If you must combust, do it outside," Lorelai answered. "I don't want you to get any scorch marks on the couch." She grinned and disappeared out the door.

"Your mom is really great," Tristan said once she was gone.

"I know," Rory answered with a nod.

"My mom..." he stopped. Rory waited, her eyes on the side of his bowed head. "...isn't like your mom," he finished lamely.

"No one's mom is like my mom," Rory said.

"Yeah," Tristan agreed, flashing a small smile. "But my mom is-" There was a knock at the door, and they both looked over in surprise. Rory jumped up.

"Mom, your keys are in your pocket," she called. "Did you forget your-" She pulled open the door and stopped abruptly when she saw Dean on the doorstep, his hands behind his back. "Dean," she said, surprise in her voice.

"I know," he said. "You told me you were too busy this weekend, but I brought you this." He pulled his hands from behind his back and offered a cardboard holder with four hot cups of coffee from Luke's. Her eyes widened.

"Oh! Thanks. Thank you. Really. This is so nice of you." He leaned forward and lightly brushed his lips to hers.

"You're welcome," he said, then smiled. "So can I come in? Just for a second or however long it takes to drink a cup of coffee?" She opened her mouth. "You have to take a break sometime," Dean urged.

She closed her mouth, then opened it again. She half-turned and looked behind her, then turned back, utterly confused.

"You do realize no sound is coming out of your mouth," he said.

"Uh..." she started. "Well, we're kind of busy."

"We?"

"Tristan is here."

His jaw clenched, and he stared at her hard for a moment. "You guys are studying again?"

"Yeah," she said.

"Well, I brought four cups," Dean said. "So there's plenty for all of us."

"Okay," Rory said uncertainly. She stepped back from the door, holding the coffee against her chest. Dean ducked his head as he passed through the doorway, and she led him to the living room. Tristan was already standing by the table, having heard some of the conversation, with his arms crossed over his chest. He and Dean locked gazes, sizing each other up with hostile glares.

"Tristan, Dean," she said, waving a hand at each of them in turn.

"We've met," Tristan said, his throat tight.

"Let's pretend you haven't," Rory said. She handed each of them a cup of coffee, and put the last one of the table. They stood awkwardly for a moment. She motioned for Tristan to sit on the couch; he shook his head.

"I'll stand."

She took a small sip of coffee. "So..."

"That's a lot of dead trees," Dean said, looking at the piles of notes.

"That's Chilton," Rory said.

"No tie today," Dean said snidely, looking at Tristan.

"Not today," Tristan agreed, narrowing his eyes.

"Uh, how about those...Yankees?" Rory said. They both looked at her, smiling slightly.

"Yankees?" Dean said. "Have you ever seen a baseball game?"

"Of course I have," Rory answered defensively. "We like to look at the tight pants."

"Maybe we should go to a game sometime," Tristan said. "I was planning to go to New York for a couple weeks this summer anyway." He smirked at Dean, and the other boy's face heated with anger.

"Why?" Rory asked. "Do you like to look at the tight pants too?" Dean grinned, then stopped when he saw Rory smiling at Tristan, and the smile he was returning.

"A play then," Tristan said. "I'll bet there's something you'd like on Broadway."

"Forget it," Dean said. "She can see through your crap."

"And she can speak for herself," Rory interjected.

"I know that," Dean said. "But he's-"

"Inviting a friend to hang out with him," Tristan said, raising his eyebrow. "What's the big deal, Dean?" he asked, his tone mocking.

"Why would you even want to be friends with this guy?" Dean asked, his voice rising as he turned to Rory and gestured at Tristan with his arm. "He's an asshole."

"You going to try to tell her who she can hang out with?" Tristan snapped, taking a step closer, his hands by his sides. "Mr. Boyfriend's so insecure he can't even handle her hanging out with other guys."

"We all know you're not about friendship," Dean said, leaning forward. "We all know what you really want from her."

"Hey," Rory said. "I'm standing right here."

"I'm a better friend to her than you are," Tristan said. "Where have you been for the last two months?" He lifted his chin at Dean, and the other boy let out a slow breath through his nostrils, his teeth clenching. His hand balled into a fist, and he put his coffee down on the table. Tristan raised his eyebrows and did the same, a challenging look on his face.

"What are you doing?" Rory asked, her voice sharp with panic.

"She's never going to want you," Dean said. "She's too smart for that."

"That's between me and her," Tristan said, taking another step closer so that he and Dean were chest to chest. He looked up into Dean's face, his eyes snapping with anger.

"You can buy her things," Dean taunted. "And you can sit around and talk about your school work or whatever. But you're never going to get to her. You understand me?"

"Worry about yourself," Tristan spat back. "You broke up with her once already, and you're calling *me* the asshole."

Dean's teeth ground together, and he pushed at Tristan with both hands, sending the smaller boy backward a few paces. Tristan flung himself back at Dean. Dean staggered, and the two of them twisted, grappling against each other. They banged into the table, twisting again, fists flailing against each other's sides.

"Hey!" Rory yelled. "HEY!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, her voice turning raw with the volume. They paused, breathing hard, fists clutching handfuls of shirt material. "Stop it!" she said, her voice a loud mix of anger, annoyance and disbelief. "Get out," she said flatly.

"Rory," Dean said, releasing Tristan. "I'm sorry. But you saw how he-"

"Get. Out," Rory said, her voice dangerously calm. She pointed at the door. Dean looked like he was about to protest again, but after a look at her face he backed toward the door. She turned her gaze on Tristan, who was gathering up his notes, and glared until he also hurried toward the door.

"Sorry," he muttered, before slipping outside.

She went to the window to make sure they weren't just taking the fight outside, then sat down on the floor, her eyes wide and staring. She'd known they wouldn't get along, but she'd hoped to at least avoid a repeat of what had happened last time. Instead, they were typical males, fighting like dogs over their territory. As if she was their territory. She pounded her fist against the wall.

"What's going on?" Lorelai asked as she came in the door a moment later. "I just saw Tristan's car as I was walking home. Did he leave?" She entered the living room to see Rory sitting on the floor. She hurried over. "What happened?

Rory looked up and shook her head, her jaws still locked tight with anger. "Dean came over," she said.

"And you brought him in here with Tristan?" Lorelai asked. "Oh no. Testosterone poisoning?"

Rory nodded. "I can't believe them. They were arguing over me like I wasn't even there."

"Well, who needs 'em," Lorelai said. "You've got me." She smiled, sat down on the floor next to Rory, and put her arm around her daughter. "And ice cream."

Rory cracked a tiny smile. "Chunky Monkey?"

"And..." Lorelai paused dramatically, "...Cookies and Cream."

Rory smiled wider.

"Don't worry about it too much, babe," Lorelai said, running her fingers through Rory's hair. "They're boys. This is how they are. They'll come crawling back, and after a suitable period of time punishing them and making them grovel before you, you'll forgive them." Rory rested her head on her mom's shoulder. "And of course, you will never put them in the same room again. It's like those fighting fish. They have to be alone in the tank or else they fight and then they eat each other."

"Ew," Rory said.

"You having a mental image of Dean gnawing on Tristan's severed leg?"

"I wasn't until now," Rory said, rolling her eyes.

Lorelai stood up, and extended her hand. "We can't let the ice cream melt, now can we?" Rory grabbed the hand, and Lorelai gave her arm a quick pull that brought her to her feet. "Who has time for silly boys anyway," she said. "We still have to work on your plan for total Chilton domination."

"Right," Rory said. "And figure out why they call it the Thirty Years War."

"See, way too busy for worrying about Dean and Tristan making fools of themselves." She wrapped her arm around Rory's waist and the two of them went to grab the shopping bag from the entryway. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, what color was George Washington's white horse?"

"Grey."


	5. Part Five

**Examination**

PART FIVE

Rory sat on her bed and stared with determination at her history notes. She was almost done with the unit. She gave the notebook an angry glare and continued to read. Thoughts tried to crowd her mind, thoughts of Dean, thoughts of Tristan, but she pushed them away. Council of Vienna, she reminded herself. She was going to study, darn it. And she wasn't going to think about either of them.

The phone rang, and she marked her spot before grabbing it.

"Rory," Dean said.

"I'm not talking to you," she answered.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just calling to tell you that."

"Fine. Bye."

"Rory," he pleaded.

"What?" she snapped.

"I'm sorry I upset you," he said. "And I shouldn't have acted like you needed my protection. I know you can take care of yourself."

"Is that it? I'm kind of busy."

"And I guess I shouldn't have fought with Tristan."

"He was my guest. And he's my friend."

"Well, I'm sorry," Dean said. "But I'm not sorry that I don't like him."

"I didn't ask you to like him. There's a big difference between not liking him and physically attacking him."

"Hey, what about him attacking me?"

"Don't even start," she said. "I'm hanging up now."

"Wait," he said. "How long are you going to stay mad at me?"

"I'll let you know when I'm talking to you again." She hung up, then picked up the phone and shook it, throttling it with her hands. She slammed it down again, and looked over at her notes. Study, she reminded herself.

The phone rang again. She tried to ignore it. It rang again, loud and insistent.

"Can you get that?" Lorelai called. "My hands are full."

Rory sighed, then reluctantly picked up the receiver.

"Hello?" Tristan said.

"I'm not talking to you," she snapped.

"I figured," he answered.

"And don't bother apologizing," she continued. "Because I don't want to hear it. I'm sitting here *trying* to get ready for finals, and I don't need to waste my time listening to excuses and rehashing the whole thing. So just don't."

"Actually, that's not why I called."

"Oh." Rory paused in surprise. "What?"

"I think I got some of your notes mixed in with mine. I have a couple pages of French and a big chunk of pre-calculus."

"Keep it." Rory said.

"But, your math final is Monday."

She sighed softly, and tried to calm down. "Is it stuff we've gone over?" she asked.

"I don't know. Some of it." He paused. "You must be really upset."

"What was your first clue?" Rory said sarcastically.

"You almost blew off a major school thing."

"So?" Rory said. "School isn't the only thing I do."

"I know that, but-"

"You don't even know me," she said. "How would you-"

"I do know you," Tristan interrupted, almost tripping over the words as he spoke them soft and quick. "Maybe not as well as I want to. But I know you. I know what bands you listen to, and what books you read. I know you want to travel. I know how you talk," the words came even faster now, "I know the way your face heats up when you get mad, I know that intense look you get when you're concentrating, like nothing outside you exists. I know your walk, and your smiles, and your frowns. I know your lips and your eyes and your fingers and your ears. I know you, Rory Gilmore. You can't tell me I don't."

Rory stared blankly at her dresser, her heart racing. Her face felt hot, flushed, and her hands were trembling. She had no idea what to say, what he was trying to say... "Tristan..." she started, her voice softer now, her anger gone.

"Forget it," he said, and hung up. She stared at the receiver, listening to the dial tone with her head cocked in puzzlement. Rory flopped down backward onto her bed and stared at the ceiling of her room, then flung her arm over her eyes. Behind closed lids she could see him sitting in the driver's seat of his car the night of the concert. Soaked to the skin. His hair was dark gold, half of it sticking up in wet spikes, half falling against his forehead. His jeans clung to his legs, tight with water. His eyes flashed bright blue as they passed under a streetlight. And he was telling her why he kept asking her out. "I like you, that's all." She shook her head against the crook of her arm. What had he meant by all of that on the phone? What did he expect her to do? What was she *going* to do? There's not point in studying now, she admitted to herself. I'll never be able to concentrate.

She thought of Dean. Their first kiss. A total surprise, sudden electrifying contact of lips on lips in Aisle Three. And she thought of her first, her only, kiss with Tristan. She'd seen it coming, seen him move toward her, and she hadn't pulled away. He had touched his lips to hers gently, pulling her lower lip into his mouth, snug against his teeth. But it had been a mistake. A stupid mistake. A burst into tears and run away kind of mistake. Because she didn't feel anything for him. So why was her breath caught in her throat at the memory? Why did she wish suddenly that she'd reached out that night at the concert and run her hands through the wet spikes of his hair? Why was she remembering the flash of his smile in the dark, and wanting...

"Rory!" Lorelai called. "Want to go to Luke's? I'm hungry."

She jerked upright, sitting on her bed, and turned her head toward the door. "Uh...yeah," she said. "Just a second." She ran for the bathroom and splashed her face with cold water, then stared at herself in the mirror, water streaming down her cheeks. What kind of person was she, that she would think about kissing another guy? She had a boyfriend. A boyfriend she cared about. A boyfriend she'd thought was lost. She turned away from the mirror and dried her face. Temporary insanity, she decided. It's the finals stress. I've been spending all this time with Tristan. That's got to be it.

"Let's ask Luke for extra grease on the burgers," she said, keeping her voice cheerful as she left the bathroom. "Just to make him mad."

"I like the way you think," Lorelai said with a grin. She grabbed her coat and the two of them headed out the door.

*

Rory headed for bed early, after trying to study long enough to realize nothing was sticking. She lay in the dark and waited for sleep to rescue her from racing thoughts and the confused muddle inside her head. When she finally drifted off she dreamt of soft smiles and a tender hand against her back, drawing her close, a head tilted down to catch her lips with a kiss. She dreamt of her head cradled against a strong, muscular shoulder. She dreamt of being held and of laughter and of long fingers entwined with her own. She dreamt of safety and joy and a guy she was sharing it all with. And when she woke she couldn't remember who it was.


	6. Part Six

**Examination**

PART SIX

Rory lay in her bed, the covers twisted around her, and tried to clutch the quickly fading tatters of her dream. The images, the touches, slipped away, disappearing like tendrils of mist under the light of the sun. The harder she tried to remember the face of the boy in the dream, the more the dream retreated from her, skittering away to the back of her mind. She gritted her teeth in frustration.

"It was probably Brad Pitt anyway," she said spitefully, and tossed the covers aside.

She stalked into the kitchen, and stared bleary eyed at the coffee machine. She went through the automatic motions of making a pot, then sat by the counter, watching the coffee drip against the glass. After spacing out for a few minutes, she decided a watched coffee pot would never finish brewing and sat down at the table. She closed her eyes, propping her head up with her hand.

"Coffee?" Lorelai said as she entered the room, her eyes closed, her hands outstretched like a blind woman.

"It's almost ready, Frankenstein," Rory said with a snort. Lorelai opened one of her eyes a crack to peer at her daughter.

"Fire bad," she said solemnly. Rory pouted at the table, scratching at a flaw in the slick surface. Lorelai dropped her arms, and gave Rory a curious look. "What's with the moping?"

"I'm not moping," Rory said.

"If you were a dwarf you would be Mopey," Lorelai said.

"That isn't even one of the dwarves."

"Sure it is, the eighth dwarf. You never saw him because he was too busy moping to go work in the mines."

"Well, if you were a dwarf I would call you Nosey," Rory said, not looking up.

"I suppose you could be Grumpy," Lorelai said speculatively. "Or Meanie." She tapped Rory on the wrist. "What's going on?"

Rory shook her head. "I can't remember what I dreamed last night."

"Neither can I," Lorelai said shrugging her shoulder. "Except that there was something about being captured by people who worshipped salad dressing. And bacon bits. I don't *think* there were any croutons." She clutched her stomach. "Let's go to Luke's!"

"I just *made* coffee," Rory pointed out.

"But did you make pancakes?" Lorelai asked. "Or waffles? Oooh, let's get waffles."

"Mom," Rory said. Lorelai pulled her up out of her seat, and dragged her to the counter. She poured her a mug of coffee, shoved it into her hand, and pushed her in the direction of her room.

"Get dressed," she said. "We're going to Luke's and you're telling me what's causing the long face."

*  
Rory stared out the window at Luke's, her eyes half closed. She turned her head to watch as her mother returned from the counter. Lorelai sat down across from her, throwing a backward glance at Luke. "You'd think he'd learn not to get between Lorelai Gilmore and her coffee," she said. She held out her full cup and smiled.

Rory flashed a distracted smile in return. Lorelai gave her a thoughtful look. "So," she said. "We've got some time before the waffles get here. Spill it."

"Seriously," Rory said. "It's nothing."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "I think I know when my daughter is upset. My own flesh and blood. Born of my own womb. Carried inside me for 9 months. Lived with me for 16 years. You think that doesn't give me some insight into your moods?" Rory plucked at her napkin, creating a stack of small shreds of paper. "Rory," Lorelai said. Rory raised her eyes, and met her mom's concerned gaze. "What's going on?"

"I'm just confused," Rory said.

"Me too," Lorelai answered. "Less vague, please."

"I guess..." Rory started. "I don't know how to explain it really."

"Well, make an effort," Lorelai said. "Or are you in the mood for twenty questions? Is it bigger than a bread box?"

Rory chuckled. "It's a problem. It doesn't have physical mass."

"Is it finals?" Lorelai said. "Chilton? Friends? Boyfriend? Family? You don't like the color the leaves are turning? You think Kirk looks more like an Evan?"

"All of the above," Rory said. "Only not the leaves or Kirk."

Lorelai studied Rory for a moment. "Okay, look. If you don't want to talk, I can understand that. Eventually of course, I will drag it out of you. But I'm willing to give you a couple hours to come out with it voluntarily."

"Thanks," Rory said. She tapped her fork against the table, absently staring out the window. Lorelai tried to stare with her, but exhaled loudly.

"I lied. Spill now!" she whined.

Rory shook her head, smiling to herself. "That was pathetic. I was thinking you'd last at least five minutes."

"I have no patience," Lorelai said. "It's a genetic flaw. DNA. Can't be helped."

Rory sighed, and hunched forward over the table. Her forehead wrinkled, she bit her lip thoughtfully as she tried to figure out what to say. "I don't think I can be friends with Tristan anymore," she finally blurted.

"But you seemed like you were getting along so well," Lorelai said.

Rory shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. But I just... I don't think it's a good idea for me to spend so much time with him."

"Because Dean is jealous?" Lorelai asked. "Jealousy is a stupid emotion. Tell Dean to get over it, and eventually he will."

"I don't know," Rory said. "Anyway, that's not even it. There are other things. I just don't think it will work. I mean, I feel weird when I'm around him. It makes me uncomfortable."

"Knowing that he likes you."

"Yeah," Rory said. She brushed aside the vague feeling that of guilt that rose with the small voice inside suggesting that it wasn't Tristan's feelings that were the problem. "I can't give him what he wants."

"But isn't that his decision?" Lorelai said. "If he thinks he can handle it, why can't you handle it too?"

Rory bit the inside of her cheek, and stared at her fork. "I just can't do it." She looked up, and Lorelai met her gaze sympathetically.

"Hey, your life. Your decision. I can't tell you what to do." She ducked her head and took a sip of coffee, not quite buying it, though she let the matter drop. She wondered what was really going on, but she had to trust Rory would come to her when she was ready.

"Right." Rory smiled weakly. "I'm the big decision maker."

*

Rory looked at her notes, chewing her lip nervously. She'd figured out which section Tristan had, and it was one she hadn't done too well on during the last test. She scanned the explanation in her math book and felt more confused then ever. Shaking her head, she slammed the book shut in frustration. She didn't want to think about Tristan, much less worry about seeing him to get the book back. She'd made her decision, she just wanted things to be like they had been before. She just wanted to be happy with Dean.

She grabbed the phone and dialed Dean's number.

"Hello?" he said.

"Dean. It's Rory."

"Hey!" he said, his voice a combination of surprise and happiness. "Does this mean you're talking to me again?"

"Yep," she said.

"Has anyone ever told you that you suck at holding a grudge?"

"You want me to hang up on you now?"

"Nah," he said. "I like this particular deficiency. I'm just surprised. Good surprised."

"I figured you'd suffered enough," she said. "And I know you weren't the only one involved in the whole fight fiasco. Tristan wasn't exactly trying to get along either." She paused. "Don't get me wrong. I don't ever want you to get in a fight like that again. Not over me. Not because of something as stupid as jealousy. But it's only your first strike so I'm not going to hold it against you."

"What happens if I get three strikes?" he said.

"Firing squad or guillotine. I haven't decided yet."

"I'll just have to be perfect from now on," he said. "Thank God I'm not human."

Rory laughed. "Right, cause human boys are so beneath me."

"Since you're perfect yourself."

"Never made a single mistake my whole life."

"What about the time you dropped your books at school?"

"I met you, so not a mistake."

"Granted."

"Okay, Mr. Perfect. I actually can't talk. I just wanted to let you know I'm not mad anymore. And I'll definitely see you Thursday."

"Actually, it'll be Friday," Dean said. "You're not the only one with finals, you know. Ours go until Friday."

"Friday then," Rory agreed. "We can develop a plan to somehow completely avoid all finals next year."

"Drop out?"

"Cause I've always wanted to work at 7-11."

"Me too. You get free Slurpees."

Rory laughed. "Great, so now we have a plan. We can spend Friday doing things that are fun."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. Fun things. You can figure out the details."

"Fun details."

"Exactly. Now I'm going at the count of three. One."

"Four."

"Five."

"Fifteen."

"Three." Rory hung up the phone, and sat back, a small smile on her face. This was the right thing. This was what she wanted. Her glance fell on her notebook, and she stood up, her calm disappearing. She paced her room, tossing glances at her notebook, then at the phone. Finally she opened the door, and found her mom on the living room couch with a book.

"Busy?" she asked.

"Nope," Lorelai answered. She held out the book. "You know, I trusted Oprah to steer me toward great literature. Big mistake. I'd be more entertained watching Oprah's nail polish dry. Especially if they had one of those blowy nail dryers that make the whirring sounds."

"I guess Oprah's not right all the time."

"What next? Are you going to tell me Martha Stewart's linens sometimes get dirty? What is the world coming to?"

Rory smiled. "I know what will relieve you of your boredom."

"A pillow fight?" Lorelai asked eagerly.

"No," Rory said. "Driving to Tristan's house to get my math notes."

"What?" Lorelai pouted. "You need to reevaluate your definition of non-boredom."

"Come on," Rory urged. "He took them accidentally, and I think I really need them for tomorrow."

"Go get them yourself," Lorelai said.

Rory shook her head. "Not hanging out with him anymore, remember?"

"So what? You don't have to hang out, you just have to knock on the door, say...where are my notes? Take them and leave. No hanging whatsoever."

Rory whimpered. "Please just help me."

"I'm your mother," Lorelai said. "I'm not supposed to help you. I'm supposed to force you to do things for yourself and teach you valuable lessons." She smiled, then touched Rory on the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, babe. I'll go with you, but I can't let you off the hook. You have to deal with it. At the least, you should let Tristan know he's on your non-friends list again."

Rory opened her mouth to beg, but saw the resolve in Lorelai's face. She sighed. "I'll call and make sure he's home."

"That's my girl."

*

Lorelai stood behind Rory on the doorstep of the DuGrey mansion. The house was huge. Two stories. Slate gray. A large stone statue of a naked woman with a pitcher under her arm, stood at the edge of the porch beside one of two graceful columns.

"I think she's giving me the evil eye," Lorelai whispered with a nervous glance at the sculpture.

"Her eyes are stone," Rory pointed out.

"Yeah, but I can still recognize the evil eye when I see it," Lorelai said. "She totally hates me." Rory rolled her eyes, and Lorelai nudged her with an elbow. "Hurry up and ring the bell before she tosses that pitcher at me."

Rory hesitated with her finger over the doorbell, then pressed it and took a step back. After a moment the door swung open to reveal a tall, older man, dressed in a tuxedo, complete with tails. Rory gaped at him for a moment, until he raised a cultured eyebrow.

"Yes?" he said, snidely British.

"Oh, I'm Rory Gilmore," she said. "This is my mom. Lorelai. Actually I'm Lorelai Gilmore too. We're both Lorelai Gilmore."

"We have a reservation," Lorelai said, cutting into her daughter's babbling with a smile.

The man pretended not to have heard her. "Master Tristan is expecting you," he said, stepping aside.

"Master Tristan?" Lorelai mouthed silently behind his back when he turned to lead them into the foyer. Rory waved her away, and tried not to stare at the gleaming expanse of black marble floor, and the spiral staircase that curved in the middle of the room. The handrails sparkled silver. In the center of the staircase's wide spiral was a silver lattice that reached up to the ceiling, twined with brilliant crimson roses like bright splashes of blood against the black.

"Anyone ever try to slide down that bannister?" Lorelai asked.

"No," the butler said, not cracking a smile. He looked at Rory. "Follow me please, miss." He headed for the stairs, and Rory looked at the spiral doubtfully.

"Are you sure it's not just for decoration?" she said.

"It's quite safe," he answered.

"I'll just wait here," Lorelai said. "In Gattica." Rory gave her a look of fearful pleading, but she waved her daughter onward. "It's okay," she said. "I'm sure Jeeves doesn't bite. What's your real name, Jeeves?"

The butler frowned slightly, but answered the question. "Niles, ma'am."

"And do you bite, Niles?"

"No, ma'am," he said stiffly.

"See," Lorelai said. Rory sighed under her breath and followed Niles, watching her step and keeping a firm grasp on the railing. She had to admit it was pretty, but she could picture herself pitching over the side with only a thorny rose bush to cushion her from the marble and shuddered. She'd take a nice, normal staircase any day.

After a moment they reached the second floor, and Niles led her along a length of hallway to a closed door. He motioned to the door, then returned the way he'd come, leaving her alone in the hall. She thought for a brief, insane moment about turning around and running back down the stairs. It wasn't too late. With a sigh, she knocked on the door instead.

Tristan pulled the door open and stood before her in a black t-shirt and worn jeans. His hair was rumpled, and his feet were bare. It was the first time since she'd met him that she didn't feel like he'd stepped out of a catalogue. Casual suited him, and she found herself smiling at him before she'd realized what she was doing.

"What?" he said.

"Nice house," she answered.

He shrugged, reddening slightly. "Whatever."

"It's very..." Rory paused. "Dramatic."

Tristan snorted. "That's one way to put it. My mom decorated it. She'll probably get tired of it in a couple months, and have the whole thing redone again."

"You don't like it?" Rory said.

"It's like a magazine picture or a design exhibit," he said. "It's nice to look at, but living in it's a bitch. Those stairs are a pain in the ass. Literally. One of the maids fractured her tailbone."

"Ouch," Rory winced.

"Tell me about it," he said. "Anyway, come in. I have your notes on my desk." He stepped away from the door, and Rory followed him into the room. She looked around curiously while he shuffled through some papers on a polished black desk with silver handles. The room was at least twice the size of hers. The bed was against one wall, a king sized sea of red: red sheets, pillow cases, and comforter, offset by a black headboard. Black bookcases stood on either side of the bed, most of the shelves filled with hardback books. A large screen TV and some expensive looking stereo equipment filled a black lacquer entertainment center opposite the bed. Several framed pieces of abstract art hung on the walls. One of them seemed to be a canvas painted completely black, and another was a jumble of black geometric shapes on a white surface. The carpet was an immaculate white. The entire room was oddly bare, and abnormally clean. The only things that indicated anyone lived there were the papers spread all over the bed, and the stacks of books and notebooks on the desk.

"I take it your mom designed the room," Rory said.

Tristan rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, and ducked his head, keeping his eyes on the papers he was shuffling. "Yeah," he said. "I have some stuff in the closet, but she doesn't like to have things screw up the theme out here."

Rory nodded. "I have a friend with hidden stashes of CDs under her floorboards, and a little mini-room hidden in her closet." She glanced around the room again. "I guess it's sort of you in a weird way."

"Why?" Tristan snorted. "Because it's clean?"

"Yeah," Rory agreed. "Your cleanliness really stands out. I bet you take a shower every single day."

"You've been thinking about me in the shower, huh?" he teased. He turned to her, and Rory fought the blush that crept up her neck. An awkward silence stretched between them, and he stared at her, wondering where the witty comeback was. Finally, he held out the papers. "Here."

Rory took the papers from his hand, and stood for a moment, her mouth suddenly dry. "Look..." she started, just as he said, "Well..."

"Go ahead," he said.

She took a deep breath and kept her eyes on the papers in her hands. "I really had a good time studying with you," she started.

"Me too," Tristan said with a smile.

"But I..." she started. "I can't do this anymore."

"Study with me?" Tristan said.

"Do anything with you," Rory corrected.

"What?" he said, his voice soft.

"It's not you," she said. "I mean it. I just...thought we could be friends even with all the," she motioned with her hands, "this between us, but I was wrong. It's uncomfortable for me, and I can't-"

"Don't even bother," Tristan said coldly. "I don't need your excuses."

"Please," Rory said. "I just think it's for the best. I don't want to hurt-"

"You are a liar," Tristan answered, his face heating with anger. "You're not afraid I'm going to get hurt. And this isn't about my feelings for you. When you found out about how I felt, you were the one who wanted to be friends in the first place."

"I know," Rory said, "but I didn't realize..."

"This is about YOU," Tristan interrupted. "Because you are a coward."

"What are you talking about?" Rory said, allowing her own anger to grow in response to the attack. "Yeah, this is about me. It's about the impossible position you put me in. You know I don't feel anything for you, but it's like you put all this pressure on me just by being around me. I can't deal-"

"Lie," Tristan interrupted.

"It is NOT a lie!" Rory yelled.

"You're afraid!" Tristan said, not quite yelling, his voice sharp with intensity.

"Of what?" Rory spat. "You have no idea what I-"

"Of this," Tristan said, and grabbed her by the arms. He pulled her closer to him, and pressed his lips to hers, hard. Her fingers clenched around her notes, and she responded to the kiss, her free hand tangling in the spikes of his hair, as he twisted his fist in the fabric of her shirt. Her heart pounded, thudding against her ears, and she couldn't feel anything but his lips on hers, the pressure of his fist against her ribs. She felt like she was falling, a mix of intense adrenaline hyped panic, and utter joyful freedom. Then she jerked away, panting for breath, her knees weak. "You're not afraid of my feelings for you," Tristan said softly. "You're afraid that maybe you'll feel something for me." She made the mistake of meeting his eyes, and was swept under for a moment as a part of her shivered at the words, the heat in his gaze. Then she turned and ran for the door, pulling it open and dashing down the hall.

She careened down the stairs, not caring that the steps were slick and steep. She slipped and skidded down several steps, skinning her hands and knees, but she pulled herself back up and continued to run. When she reached the bottom, she stormed through the foyer. She heard her mom call her name as she hurried out of the house after her fleeing daughter. Rory climbed into the passenger's seat of the Jeep, rubbing at her lips with the back of her hand. She felt wetness on her cheeks and realized she was crying. She quickly dried her eyes on her shirt sleeve, and stared out the window as her mom climbed into the car and started the engine.

"Did you get the notes?" Lorelai asked for lack of anything better to say. Rory held up the crumpled handful of paper, and Lorelai nodded. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Rory shook her head no, and carefully kept her gaze on the bushes outside, trying to keep her mind completely blank, to forget the feel of his lips on hers, his hands touching her arms, brushing her side where he'd grabbed her shirt. She swiped at another tear, and smoothed out the papers on her lap. She didn't even know why she was crying. It wasn't like she knew him that well. And it was obvious that she'd been right. They couldn't be friends. Not anymore.

She took a shaky breath. Now, all she had to do was convince herself it was worth it.

*  
Tristan grabbed a lamp off his desk and threw it against the wall. It littered the white carpet with a spray of glass and ceramic shards. He shoved all the papers and books off his bed, letting them flutter and thunk to the ground, then he threw himself down on the mattress. The anger that had fueled him began to fade, leaving the underlying hurt exposed. He was choking on hurt, hurt pride, hurt feelings. His chest ached with wanting. And with loss. He turned his head to the window and wished for impossible things.


	7. Part Seven

**Examination**

**PART SEVEN**

Lorelai held open the front door, and Rory went inside. She headed straight for her room and closed the door. Alone, she let her mouth crumple and the tears fall for a moment. Then she took a shaky breath and wiped her eyes. She stared at her strained face in the mirror, and carefully looked for signs of the kiss, somehow expecting to see a scarlet A branded on her forehead. There was nothing. She looked a little surprised maybe. A little sad. She brushed at her eyes again, and noticed the scrapes on her hands.

She hurried to the bathroom, and washed the slightly torn skin. She splashed some cold water on her face, and carefully patted her face dry. She braced herself, and opened the bathroom door.

As she'd expected, Lorelai stood outside the door, her arms crossed over her chest. She stepped forward and before Rory had time to step away, she was enfolded in a hug. She stood still for a moment, then reached up and hugged her mom back, resting her head on Lorelai's shoulder. Lorelai stroked her hair gently, and Rory tightened her grip, then stepped back. Lorelai let her go with a worried frown on her face.

"What happened?" she asked. Rory hesitated.

"He kissed me," she finally answered.

"And that caused all this?" Lorelai asked. "Crying? Running down the stairs like a crazy person? What are you not telling me?" She smiled a little and touched Rory's cheek. "You know secrets are against the rules."

Rory blinked back another wash of tears, and gritted her teeth. "I hate this," she said. "I don't even know why I'm crying."

Lorelai put her arm around Rory's waist and pulled her toward the sofa. They sat down together, and Lorelai put her chin on Rory's shoulder. "You probably do know," she said. "Maybe you just don't want to think about it."

"Maybe," Rory admitted. "He said I was afraid."

"Of what?" Lorelai asked.

Rory shook her head. Then she sagged against the sofa, and Lorelai sat up, pulling Rory's hand into her lap. "Of maybe having feelings for him," she said softly.

"Do you?" Lorelai asked.

Rory touched her trembling lips and blinked watery eyes. "I don't know," she said, biting back a choked sob.

"Oh, Rory," Lorelai said, pulling her daughter close. Rory curled up on the sofa, her head in her mother's lap. "Having feelings doesn't make you a bad person. It's not your fault."

"I don't want to have them," she said. "I want things to be simple. Like they were before." She sniffled. "I want Dean to be my boyfriend."

"He is, remember?" Lorelai said. "And yet, you're still lying on the couch, an emotional wreck."

"I used to know I belonged with him," Rory said. Lorelai rested a hand on her back. "I want to be sure again." She shifted. "I don't even know if anything could happen with Tristan. I don't even know if I want anything to happen. There's just this possibility. I can't stop thinking..." She trailed off, and Lorelai glanced over at Luke's toolbox with a thoughtful look on her face.

"I think I recall the feeling," she said with a smile.

"What do I do?" Rory said.

"You want to know what I think?" Lorelai said. "I think I can't tell you what to do on this one."

"Well, what's the point of having a mom if she won't tell me what to do," Rory pouted.

"You just want someone else to take the heat when this whole situation gets out of control and causes World War III," Lorelai accused.

"Oh course," Rory answered with a smile.

"You're the only one who knows what you feel," Lorelai said. "You're the only one who knows what's right for you." She stroked the length of Rory's hair. "Look. Just be honest with yourself, and everything will work out for the best." She tapped Rory's head. "But you have to really be honest."

"What are you talking about?" Rory said.

"Well, I know you want to pick Dean," Lorelai said. "He was your first boyfriend. You never really wanted to breakup with him. And you just got him back. Of course you want to stay with him. You said yourself you don't know if it would work with Tristan. So picking Dean is the safe thing to do."

"What does this have to do with lying and not lying?"

"The truth is," Lorelai answered, "neither of them is a sure thing. They're people not a science experiment. You can't predict the properties of how chemical x will react with chemical y here. The only thing you can know is how you feel. You have to take a good, hard look at yourself. Examine your feelings, and don't take the easy way. Take the right way."

Rory sighed. "It doesn't feel like there's any right way."

"Then pick the less wrong way," Lorelai said. "Think of it as another final. You have to study, and then you take the test. Make the decision. Give an answer. Bubble in the letter."

"Yeah, okay," Rory said. "I get the metaphor. You can stop now."

"Wait," Lorelai said, "just a couple more. You have to put an X in the box, punch out the chad, write the essay..." Rory shook her head and got up, heading to the kitchen to escape the continuing list. Lorelai followed her. "Hey, are you making coffee?"

*

Rory looked at the crumpled notes on her desk. She felt pretty well prepared for her finals. All that was left was another look at that section of math. She reached tentatively for them. They were just notes, but it was hard to look at them, to concentrate when the deep creases in the paper reminded her of that kiss.

She sighed. The most important thing now was to try not to think about it. To avoid Tristan at school. And to get through finals. After that, it was anybody's guess.


	8. Part Eight

**Examination**

**PART EIGHT**

Rory finished writing out the last equation and started to check her work. Just a moment later, the teacher asked them to put their pencils down, and Rory obeyed. She sat back, relieved to have finished her first exam. So far, everything was going according to plan. Tristan had been so easy to avoid, she wondered if he wasn't avoiding her as well. Of course she would have to see him in her next period, since they had the same English class. But she planned to sit as far away from him as possible. And because they had extended periods during exams she wouldn't have to worry about going to history or any of the other classes she shared with him.

The bell rang and she gathered up her things, passing Paris on her way out the door. The other girl gave her a thoughtful look, but Rory ignored it. If there was one thing she didn't need, it was another lecture about how much Paris hated her. Especially since, for the first time, she couldn't truthfully say she had no interest in Tristan whatsoever. She dropped a notebook off at her locker and headed to English, getting there just seconds before the bell. The class was full, the only empty seat on the front row beside... Rory sighed. Tristan.

She took the seat, and kept her eyes on Mr. Medina as he gave a brief explanation and began handing out the exams. She started working on hers as soon as it was placed in front of her, breezing through the first few questions on Shakespeare. She came to a short answer question on Dickinson, and froze, her mind suddenly blank of anything but Tristan talking about 'A Fly Buzzed.' She glanced at him before she could catch herself. He was bent over his exam, chewing on his lower lip and squinting as he tried to remember something. He looked up, his eyes meeting hers, and she quickly looked away, refocusing on her test.

After a few more questions, she was in her own world again, her concentration unbroken by anything but figuring out how to word her essay.

She finished with just a few moments to spare, and turned over her paper. Tristan was still working on the last answer. He ran his hand through his hair, pulling on the strands as he thought about the question. Her chest ached, and she turned away, frightened when she recognized the feeling she'd had the first time Dean had walked with her past the cake shop. She gritted her teeth and rolled her pencil between her thumb and forefinger. She wasn't going to think about it. Not yet.

The bell rang, and Mr. Medina began to collect the exams. She hurried for the door as soon as hers was handed in. She ate a quick lunch outside, and took her science book to the library for some last minute review.

She set her books down on one of the tables, and sat down. There were a few other students who'd had the same idea. She looked around at the heads bent over open notes, and recognized Paris at one of the far tables. She quickly ducked her head, and held her book up to hide her face. She peeked out from behind the book, but Paris seemed too absorbed in her studying to notice Rory. Relieved, Rory put the book back down on the table, and opened it.

She'd read through most of the 8th chapter when she realized someone was standing next to her. She looked over, and sighed a little when she saw Paris standing next to her chair with one hand on her hip. Rory raised her eyebrows and waited.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to give you the music article next year," Paris said bluntly, her voice slightly lowered but still too loud for the library. Rory looked at her in confusion, then at the people around them who were staring in annoyance.

"Um...what?" Rory whispered.

"And don't read anything into it," Paris said. "I'm not your friend. And I'm not doing it for you. It's for the good of the paper. I want the paper to be really great while I'm editor, and you were right about Louisa. She doesn't know anything about music."

"Well...thanks," Rory said, her forehead wrinkling.

"Whatever," Paris said. "I have to go get a good seat for my next final."

"Good luck," Rory said. Paris didn't answer as she strode out of the room.

Rory stared into space, unsure what to think. Finally she smiled. Even if she and Paris were never going to be friends, she was glad to have an assignment that fit her for the paper. She wondered where Paris' change of heart had come from, but decided it didn't matter. If Paris wasn't going to actively seek to make her life miserable, then maybe there was hope for next year.

*

When she stepped off the bus in Stars Hollow, Dean was waiting at the bus stop. He smiled at her, and she smiled weakly back.

"I thought I'd surprise you," he said.

"Mission accomplished," she answered. He pulled her close, and lightly kissed her. She relaxed into his embrace for a moment, enjoying the comfort, then closed her eyes and pulled away.

"Bad day?" he asked.

"Not so bad," she said. "There were a few good spots."

"Still mad?" he asked.

"No," she said, shaking her head emphatically.

"Then what's up?" he asked. "You're acting a little weird."

She hesitated, unsure what to do. She hadn't planned on making any decision until after finals. But she couldn't just pretend everything was okay. She couldn't lie to him. But she didn't know what the truth was, outside of the fact that she was confused. She stared up into his eyes, and he waited, a puzzled look on his face.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Why?" he asked warily.

"I think we made a mistake," she blurted.

"I'm going to need you to be a little more specific," he said, his puzzlement deepening.

"I really missed you," she said. "You know, after..."

He nodded. "I know, me too."

"I love being around you. And I love talking with you," she said. "And I hated it that you weren't in my life. There were so many times I wanted to call you or go with you to the movies or just hang out."

"Rory, what is this about?" he asked.

"I think when," she stumbled. "When we broke up, I lost a friend. We made a mistake. We shouldn't have stopped talking like we did." He opened his mouth, and she hurried on. "I know, we were both really hurt, and it was too hard to be around each other. But-"

"Rory," Dean said. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"No! I don't know," she said. "Tristan kissed me."

"What?" Dean said, almost a yell. "I told you, didn't I? I told you he was just waiting for a chance to-"

"I sort of kissed him back," Rory said. "Just for a second." Dean's eyebrows contracted. "I don't think it's fair for me to stay with you, when I'm...confused."

"You're breaking up with me for him?" Dean said, his voice raw with hurt.

"No," Rory said. "No. I'm breaking up with you because of me, not him. I don't even know if I'm going to be friends with him again, much less anything more. I don't even know if I really want to start something with him. But I know..." She stopped. "I know, that it's not like it was before between you and me. I'm not...*sure* anymore. And I won't lie to you."

Dean stood silently, his head bowed. His jaw jumping. Rory reached out to touch his hand, and he jerked away.

"Please," she said. "I need you in my life. I just don't think I can be your girlfriend anymore."

"Why did you even get back together with me?" he asked. "I don't understand..."

"I told you," she said. "You were just gone from my life. Completely. And I needed you there. I care about you, and I have fun with you, and I missed you. I just didn't realize that I was missing the friendship more than anything else."

He shook his head, and backed up a step. "I don't know. I don't think... I don't think I can..."

Rory felt tears fill her eyes, and blinked them away impatiently. "I'll understand," she said. "If you don't ever want to talk to me again." She gritted her teeth against the tears. "But I don't want to lose you again. I don't want to go through that again." She turned her head. "Would you rather I had lied to you?" she asked. "Pretended everything was okay?"

He took a deep breath. "No," he said finally. "I have to go."

"Wait," she said and grabbed his arm. He pulled away gently.

"I need a couple days to think about this."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Thanks," he said softly.

"For?"

"Being honest with me," he said. "You don't tell me what I want to hear. And it sucks," he said with a bitter smile. "But I appreciate it."

She choked on a soft laugh. "Anytime."

He nodded, and walked away, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Her legs tensed; she wanted to run after him, take it all back, return to the comfortable status quo. But it was too late. She tried to tell herself she'd done the right thing, but all she felt was horrible and empty. She kicked at the sidewalk and started walking home, feeling the distinct need for some ice cream and a talk with her mother.


	9. Part Nine

**Examination**

PART NINE

She got to her history final early and took a seat near the window. She tried to concentrate on remembering dates and names, and ignore the anxious anticipation twisting in her gut as she waited for Tristan to arrive. Her eyes darted to the door again and again. She wasn't sure what she was feeling. It was all too close, too scary, and too mixed. Did she *want* to see him? Or was she just worried about seeing him? It was too hard to sort it all out, and she needed to remember how the Austrian War of Succession had affected the economies of the European nations.

She grimaced at the two pencils lined up on her desk. She straightened one of them.

He was almost late, coming in a few seconds before the bell. His tie was slightly askew, and he looked tired. She wondered if he was having as much trouble sleeping as she'd had the night before. There were two empty seats in the room, one in the row next to her, and the other on the far side of the room. He took the one on the other side of the room. She wasn't sure why that bothered her.

She pushed it aside, and channeled all her energy into the test the teacher handed out. It didn't matter that they had studied this stuff together. She knew the information. She was going to use the information to answer the questions. And she was going to get an A. Damn it. Her brow wrinkled as she turned all of her attentions on the exam, tuning everything else out.

She hurried to her French exam without stopping by her locker. She didn't want to run into Tristan in the halls, and she knew she'd be safe in the classroom since he had a different teacher for French.

A part of her pointed out that she couldn't just keep avoiding him. She'd have to deal with it eventually. Unless she wanted to try to get through two more years of Chilton without ever talking to him again. She admitted unhappily to herself that she didn't want that to happen, and not just because it would be almost impossible to do in a school that small. The fact was, she liked being around him, and if she never talked to him again she'd be missing out.

Okay. She decided firmly that she would find him at lunch as soon as she was done with the French test. Confront the problem head on.

*  
Lunchtime, and she was on the lookout. She'd already checked the lunchroom and the quad, and she was running out of ideas. She wanted things resolved before her next exam. She walked past his locker for the second time. This was getting pathetic. She decided with a grimace that she'd have to wait. Confront him another time. Preferably some time when she could actually figure out where he was hiding.

She headed for the library with her science book in hand. She pushed open the library's double doors and started for her regular table, then stopped as she noticed Tristan's blonde head out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting in the stacks, on the floor, his back against one of the shelves. She hesitated, suddenly unsure of herself. This was what she wanted, right? She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath, then entered his row.

She stood next to him, but he paid no attention, keeping his eyes on the book he'd propped on his bent knees. She knelt down. "Tristan," she whispered. "I need to talk to you." He continued to stare at the book, and for a moment she thought he was just going to keep ignoring her. Finally, he lifted his gaze.

"I'm trying to study," he said, his voice dismissive.

"But I wanted to-" Rory started.

"Whatever it is," Tristan said. "Save it. I don't want to hear it."

"Please," Rory started. "It's kind of important."

"Look, Mary," he said, emphasizing the taunting nickname. "I don't have anything to say to you. And I very much doubt you have anything interesting to say to me."

"What are you doing?" Rory asked, her eyebrows drawing together. "Why are you-" she started. "I thought we were friends."

"Then you were wrong. I'm not your friend. I don't want to talk to you. Period. End of sentence. End of conversation." He deliberately turned his eyes back to his book, his jaw clenched. Rory stared at him a moment in disbelief, then grabbed the book off his lap, her eyes glittering with anger.

"I know you're pissed off and upset about what happened this weekend," she hissed. "But you can't just blow me off."

"Wanna bet?" he said, with a smirk.

"Stop acting like a jerk," she demanded.

"Stop acting like a whiny prude," he countered.

"Don't pull this crap with me," she said, her voice rising slightly. "I am not falling for it."

"I'm not pulling anything," he said. He spread his hands, palms up, and cocked his head. "This is me," he said. "This is who I really am. It's not my problem if you don't like it."

"No," she spat. "It's not who you are. And I am not going to let you pretend." She shook her head emphatically, his book held tight to her chest.

"I've got news for you, Mary," he said snidely. "You don't get to *let* me do anything. So why don't you give me my book back and run along."

"I know I hurt you," she said. "And I'm sorry, but you-"

"You just don't get it," he said. "I got tired of waiting for you to give it up. This just isn't working for me anymore. I'm bored with this game."

"I know you were-" she started.

"You don't know me," he said. "Don't kid yourself."

"I do know you," she argued, her voice rising a fraction as the words tumbled out. "I know your arrogance and the taunting tone your voice can take. I know the kindness you're capable of. I know your smiles and your laughs. I know your hands and your lips and the set of your chin when you don't get what you want. Don't you dare tell me I don't know you, Tristan," she said, her cheeks red. She leaned closer to him. "And if you want to play games. And if you can't deal with opening yourself up to another person and maybe getting hurt. Well, don't cry to me, and don't take it out on me, because it is not my fault that you're afraid."

She shook her head, and shoved his book at him, hard. "You said I was afraid, and maybe you were right, but now you're the one who's a coward." She spun on her heel and ran out of the library, not noticing the curious glances from the people whose studies had been interrupted by the heated conversation.

She ran for the bathroom and locked herself in an empty stall. Her hands shook, and her breath came too fast. She pressed her hands to her cheeks, and forced her breathing to slow until she was no longer panting. She closed her eyes. She'd broken up with Dean. And now he was never going to talk to her again. And neither was Tristan. She'd burned all her bridges.

The bell jangled loudly. She unlocked the bathroom stall, and began a trek to her next exam. Somehow, she had to find a way to block him, them, everything out for two hours. She clenched her fist in her skirt, and kept her eyes on the floor. Just in case. She didn't want to see him, not now. Not ever, she thought. Then sighed. Confronting him was such a great plan, Rory, she thought sarcastically. Why don't you see if you can figure out a way to ruin the world economy next?

*

Tristan sat at a desk in the back of the room, staring blankly ahead. He didn't want to think about her. He didn't want to care about her. He wanted her out of his life, completely. It hurt too much to want her. He'd tried to scare her off, cut her off, so she'd never give him another chance. If he had no hope, sooner or later the feelings would have to die. But it was too late. She was already too close if she could see through him so easily, if she could see past the hard shell of contempt to the fear inside.

And what did it mean that she cared about him enough to try? To come to him, and to see what he really was, a scared, hurt little boy. He gritted his teeth. He hated being vulnerable, and he wasn't going to put himself in that position for anyone. Not even for her. She had her precious Dean, and he wasn't going to be her puppy dog, following her around, hoping for scraps of leftover affection.

He stared at the exam paper the teacher slid onto his desk. How dare she screw with him like this? Confuse him, upset him, right before a final? He needed to do well on these just as much as she did.

He read the first question, but nothing registered. He felt his face heating as he remembered her throwing his own words back into his face. She'd tried to prove she did know him, the same way he had. And despite everything it warmed him to think she cared, she knew, she saw. Him. Not his handsome face. Not his flippant words. Not his body. Not his money. Him. She knew him, and she'd called herself a friend. That meant something, didn't it? It had to, and he'd been too scared to let it.

What if he had driven her away, just like he'd wanted? What if he'd driven away the only person who'd bothered to see him, really see him, his whole life? What if this was one mistake he couldn't fix?

He pressed his pencil against his exam with clenched fingers, and the point snapped off. He looked down in surprise, reminded that time was ticking away. He couldn't let it, let her, get to him. It's too late, he thought. But he tried to concentrate anyway. He had one day left of school, one day to fix this, or drive her away forever. It was up to him to figure out which was the right choice. Too bad he couldn't even figure out how to conjugate this stupid verb.


	10. Part Ten

**Examination**

PART TEN

Lane stood up from her seat on the bench as Rory stepped off the bus. She extended a cup of coffee to her friend, and Rory took it eagerly.

"Bless you," she said.

"Bad day?" Lane asked.

"You have no idea," Rory said with a sigh.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Lane asked. Rory hesitated. "Or we could talk about something else," Lane continued. "Like maybe why Dean was moping around the school all day like someone kicked his puppy."

"He doesn't have a puppy."

"You know what I mean."

Rory grimaced, and braced herself. "I broke up with him," she admitted.

Lane stopped in her tracks, and gave her an openmouthed, searching look. "You're not kidding?"

Rory shook her head slowly.

"Why?" Lane asked. "You just got back together. I thought that was what you wanted."

"So did I," Rory said. "But then..." she trailed off. "It doesn't even matter. It's over."

"It does so matter," Lane disagreed.

"Why?" Rory said.

"It matters because I'm your friend and when you do strange things like dump your boyfriend, who you've been dragging me through hell over with your moping and your mood swings," She stopped. "Which is not to say that I don't love you, mood swings included, but you have to admit I've been in the trenches. I deserve to know."

Rory groaned. "I hate logic." She took a deep breath. "Okay, you know I went to the concert with Tristan."

"Oh my God," Lane interrupted. "You dumped Dean for Tristan? Mean Tristan who calls you names?"

"No, not mean Tristan," Rory said. "Nice Tristan. We've been spending a lot of time together. Studying and stuff. And I started to realize I was...a little bit attracted to him."

"So you dumped Dean for Tristan," Lane said again.

"No!" Rory insisted. "I just started having doubts." She frowned. "Dean is a great guy, an amazing guy. He's cute and funny and really nice."

"Obviously, he needed to be dumped," Lane said.

"And all that should have meant I felt completely happy with him, right?" Rory said. "And instead I was thinking to myself, I wish I had run my hands through Tristan's wet hair at the concert."

Lane smiled. "The hair thing I get."

"I couldn't let things go on with Dean," Rory said. "If I was feeling doubts right after we got back together, when I should have been at my happiest, then something was wrong."

"Rory," Lane said. "I love you. But did you ever think maybe you're just physically attracted to Tristan. I mean, I'm attracted to Dave Navarro. And if let's just say for the sake of argument, Henry was my boyfriend, I would still be attracted to Dave, but it wouldn't mean I didn't want to be with Henry."

"No," Rory said. "This was different."

"Then this thing with Tristan is more than physical?" Lane asked.

Rory bit her lip, and paused, then nodded. "Yeah."

Lane shrugged. "Okay. I don't know what you're doing, throwing back a perfectly good guy. But I want your life for a while where my big problem is I have a whole line of guys to choose from."

Rory grimaced. "Tristan isn't talking to me." She paused thoughtfully. "Neither is Dean." She frowned. "There's no line."

"What do you mean Tristan isn't talking to you?"

"He blew me off at school today," Rory said. Her jaw clenched with anger at the memory. "Don't worry about it."

"I was right, he IS mean Tristan."

Rory groaned. "The whole thing is just a colossal mess. He was acting like an idiot." She shrugged. "There's a lot of that going around."

"You and Tristan," Lane said slowly. "I can't believe it.

"Look, I wasn't going to ask him out," Rory said. "I just wanted to keep being friends with him, and see where it went. And if something happened, eventually, you know," she motioned with her hand, "like in the future, then okay. And if it didn't then still okay. We'd be friends." She shook her head. "I swear I didn't break up with Dean so I could go out with Tristan. I told Dean that, and you can tell him that if he asks you. I just felt like things had changed between me and Dean. And even if Tristan didn't exist, this probably would have happened anyway."

Lane nodded. "I give you a hard time, but I get it," she said with a smile. "And I'm here. I'm your bud."

"My only bud," Rory said with an answering smile.

"Well, you only need one if they're really good," Lane said.

"In that case I'm covered."

"So what are you going to do?" Lane asked.

"Go to Disneyland?"

"You know what I mean," Lane said. "You told me Tristan's not talking to you."

"I'm not doing anything," Rory said. "I'm taking my finals. And after that I'll be free of Chilton for a couple beautiful months."

"You're not going to try to talk to him again?"

Rory shook her head. "Nope." She saw Lane's incredulous look, and chuckled. "Really. If he wants to come to me, he can. I did the seek him out and try to talk thing today, and he couldn't handle it. Now it's his turn."

"And if he doesn't come to you?"

"Then I know," Rory said with a shrug.

Lane laughed. "That was cryptic, oh knowing one."

"Then I know that we can't be friends," Rory explained. "If he can't come to me, I know he really is mean Tristan like you said, or he's too scared, or stubborn to have a real friendship."

"So this is like a test?" Lane asked. "Don't you think we all have enough tests to worry about at the moment?"

"It's not a test," Rory said with a grin. "I'm just not going to start any conversations with him."

"Are you going to not test Dean too?" Lane asked.

"Dean asked me for time," Rory said. "That's the least I can give him."

They stopped in front of Kim's Antiques, and Lane bounced lightly on her toes. "Remind me not to complain about my lack of guys," she said. "I've decided it's all too complicated."

"Anything worth doing is complicated," Rory answered.

"Did you see that in a fortune cookie?"

"Actually, yes I did. Do you want the lottery numbers too?"

Lane grinned. "How many people get fortune cookies everyday? Like a few million? And all of them get different numbers, but they're all supposed to win."

"Better not think too hard about the cookies," Rory said. "Just accept their mystery, and don't question it."

"Not questioning. The best way to live."

"I've always aspired to be a drone."

"I've wanted to be a sheep myself." Lane darted a look at the store window and saw the curtains twitch. "I've got to go. Mom's watching."

"I'll call you tomorrow," Rory said.

"You better," Lane called, running up the path to her porch. Rory watched her duck inside, then continued her walk home.

Rory waited for the bell to ring and dismiss her from her last final. She'd finished a few minutes early, and now she had nothing to do but wait. Nothing to do but sag, exhausted and defeated. She'd seen Tristan in both of her first two finals today. He'd walked just a few steps behind her to lunch. And he hadn't said anything. Hadn't passed her a note. Hadn't even looked at her twice.

So that's it, she thought with a sigh. She was a little surprised at the strength of the disappointment that grew in her chest. She'd wanted to be right about him, about who he really was, who he could be. She'd believed she did know him, and she'd believed he was someone she wanted to know better. She'd thought she understood his actions, his sometimes harsh cruelty and his moments of kindness. She'd thought she could see past hurt and fear to something better.

But she'd been wrong.

He was mean. He was immature. He was arrogant. He was selfish. He was closed off. He was a big fat jerk.

And it sucked.

The bell rang, and she gathered up her things listlessly. She stopped by her locker one final time to clear it out, collect the pictures on the door, and the big binder she'd left. She headed for the bus stop, bypassing groups of kids hugging, exchanging phone numbers, signing yearbooks. She had no one to say good-bye to. She walked faster, wanting to escape the reminder of just how alone she was at this school.

She turned her head, watching two girls cry in each other's arms, and bumped into someone.

"Sorry," she muttered, glancing at the person she'd rammed. Tristan stared back down at her, and her eyes locked with his. They were very blue. Very, very blue. She waited for him to say something, anything at all. They stared at each other, all the end of school noises around them dimming, blurring. It was just the two of them, so close. The moment stretched, then snapped. His eyes slid away from her, he ducked his head, muttered excuse me, and brushed past her. She didn't turn to watch him go. She couldn't move for a moment, and then she started walking again. Running.

She said a prayer of thanks that the bus was already at the stop, and she ran up the steps. Safely in a seat by herself, she stared out the window and tried not to cry. She told herself she shouldn't even be upset. Hadn't she already known he was a big fat jerk? Hadn't she already known she was stupid to like him or want to trust him? She decided finally that she hadn't know. Not really. Not until then, until he'd looked her in the eye and kept walking.

Now she knew.

*

Rory slammed the door, but the rattling thud didn't give her any satisfaction. She stomped up and down a few of the stairs. She punched one of the pillows on the couch repeatedly. She gritted her teeth and swallowed a scream. She was hurt, and she was angry, and she was tired of being confused.

It had all been so simple when she'd had a boyfriend who was nice, and an enemy who was mean. She wished she'd never gone to the concert with Tristan. She never would have had to see him as anything but an annoyance. She...

She groaned, and flopped down on the couch, covering her head with the cushion. Maybe she could just lie there for the rest of her life. Most of her problems would disappear if she never moved. Sure, there would be new problems like having to use a bedpan, but she was willing to give it a try.

There was a knock on the door. She stayed where she was. No more getting up. Not ever. Another knock. She tossed the pillow aside and sat up. So much for that idea.

She rubbed at her eyes, and grumbled to herself as she walked to the door. Maybe if they had a do not disturb sign people would leave her alone to try out her slug on the couch idea. She pulled the door open, and froze, her hands suddenly numb, her heart beat pounding like a jackhammer against her ears. She stared at the hollow of Tristan's throat, and tried to figure out what on earth she was supposed to say.

will continue


	11. Part Eleven

**Examination**

PART ELEVEN

Tristan raised his hand, as if to stop her protest, even though she had yet to get a grasp on any words. She raised her gaze from shocked contemplation of the triangle of skin the first three unbuttoned buttons of his Chilton shirt exposed and met his eyes. He rocked back on his heels, as if she'd struck him with a look, and she saw his hands were shaking before he jammed them in his pockets.

"I wanted," he swallowed. "I should have said something to you at school, but I couldn't figure out how or what. I wasn't even sure whether I wanted to fix the mess I made." He stared at her, looking for a flicker of understanding in the bright blue of her eyes. "I froze," he admitted. "But I couldn't just let you go."

He dropped his head, avoiding her eyes, his concentration on the wooden slats of the porch. "You were right," he muttered. "I was scared." He looked up again. "And it's easier to lie, to hide, than it is to tell the truth." He took a deep breath. "I'm going to tell you the truth now. All of it."

He stared at her like the rest of the world had suddenly disappeared, leaving only her behind. "I said I like you. I more than like you," he shrugged helplessly. "I've never felt for anyone the way I feel for you. Every minute I'm at Chilton I'm looking for you. And every time you're not in the room, everything seems flat and dull, and I hurt with missing you. And every time you *are* in the room, it hurts to be so near you and see what isn't mine."

He continued, his breath slightly shallow, the words too fast as he struggled to get everything out. "Every minute I spend with you makes me want more. The more I know about you, the more I know you're unlike anyone I've ever met. And it drives me crazy, and I don't know how to act, and part of me just wants to stop hurting."

He gritted his teeth, and she took a step closer to him, her hand half-extended. "And I'm sorry that I couldn't handle being your friend. And I'm sorry I ruined things with wanting more. And I'm sorry that I treated you so badly, in the beginning, and then the other day when you tried to talk to me." He shook his head. "I won't make excuses, and I don't expect you to forgive me.

"But I needed you to know that I didn't mean it when I was acting like a jerk," he said. "If you want me to leave you alone, I will. And next year I won't hang around you or bother you anymore." He looked down again, and scuffed his foot against the porch.

Rory reached out tentatively. She touched his wrist, then wrapped her fingers around it and pulled his hand from his pocket. She threaded her fingers through his, and squeezed. Her slim fingers pressed to his, a dizzying touch, a comforting pressure, a sudden electricity. He looked down at her hand in surprise, then at her with a question on her face.

"I don't want you to go away," she said softly, shaking her head to emphasize the statement. "I like being with you. I like talking to you about stupid, silly things, and joking around with you. I like discussing history and books and music with you, and driving around with you, and teaching you to make coffee." She smiled, and he couldn't help but smile in return. "And I like you. When you're not being a jerk, of course," she grinned to take the sting from the words.

"But-" Tristan started, certain there was a but.

"I can't give you," she hesitated, and tried not to see the disappointment hovering in his eyes. "All the stuff you want. Not right now. Not yet." She reached up and touched his cheek, tracing his skin with a gentle finger. He shivered, and his eyes were dark, lonely, lost.

"You don't feel the same way," he said, nodding absently. "I get it. It's okay." He tried to take a step back, and she let her fingers fall from his cheek, but she kept a firm grasp on his hand, and he stopped.

"I just broke up with my boyfriend for the second time," Rory said. "I'm not ready to start anything new. Not with anyone." She looked down at their joined hands, and let him go, swallowing a little sigh as the warm, rough comfort of his palm slipped away. "I'm not going to lead you on, or promise you something I can't give you." She met his eyes again. "But I'm not scared anymore." She took a step closer. "Do you understand?" she asked.

He shook his head, and felt his guts twist, warring between hope and confusion. She was so close. His lips parted slightly, his heart beating too fast as she took another step, putting herself flush against his chest. Her hand rose, and settled on his chest, covering his heartbeat. She could feel his heart in her hand, the warmth of his skin beneath his shirt, and she felt her body burn with sudden heat. "You said," she started, her voice trembling slightly. She tried again, "You said I was scared of having feelings for you," she whispered. "And I was. I was so confused, and there was Dean, and it was too much." She smiled up at him, a small, secret smile that promised things. He caught his breath, and had to remind himself to exhale. "But I'm not afraid anymore. If something *does* happen, someday, I'm not going to fight it."

She felt his heart pound harder against her fingertips, his eyes light. "I told you when you stole my books that I was never, ever going to go out with you." Her eyes were serious as she said, "I take that back." Then she looked up at him and smiled again, waiting for understanding to spark in his eyes, and a smile to break across his lips as well. He lowered his head, and his lips brushed against hers, soft, sudden. She clutched at his chest, a handful of his shirt in her hand, her eyes closed.

But she responded only for a moment, before she pulled away gently. She lowered her hand, and stepped back. "No," she said. "I meant it when I said I can't give you what you want. I need time."

He shook his head, pulling his lower lip into his mouth. "I want to be friends," he said. "I want all the things you said, the talking and having fun hanging out together. But I don't know how to stop wanting more."

"I know," she said, and nervous fear bit the back of her throat. "I don't want to hurt you. And if friends hurts too much, I'd rather you back away now. Because that's all I can promise you." She waited, tense and fearful, for him to speak, to make a decision. Maybe to tell her it was too hard, or their timing was off, or she was going to lose him.

He smiled suddenly, the old Tristan grin, confident and cocky, but tempered with something deeper. Her knees went weak with relief. "I'm not backing away from anything," he said. "I'd fall off the porch."

Rory laughed, the pleased sound of her relief bubbling from her throat. They were going to make this work. "Maybe a little fall would knock some sense into you," she joked.

"Maybe I'd fall into a coma," he said. "And you could nurse me back to health."

"Maybe you'll also win the lottery," Rory said. "And get struck by lightening twice."

"Are you trying to tell me that's a no on the cute little white uniform?"

She grinned. "I wouldn't say no to the uniform, if you were the one wearing it."

"Look at you, trying to get me into a short skirt." He snorted. "What kind of tramp do you think I am?"

"I don't know, a cheap one?" His mouth fell open in mock anger, and he gasped loudly.

"Oh no, you didn't just say that!"

"Oh, I think I did."

He had a wide grin on his face, and she grinned back, happy beyond words to be on familiar ground, hearing that familiar teasing tone. She knew it wasn't going to be easy, not knowing the way he felt about her. Not knowing the way she felt about him. She could feel the nearness of his body prickling up and down her spine. Part of her wanted to throw reason to the wind and just kiss him, see what happened next. But a larger part of her wanted this thing with Tristan to be more than a fling. She wanted to know who he was, really know him. And when, if, she was sure she could feel for him the way he did for her, she knew it would be worth the wait.

"What are you staring at?" Tristan asked. Rory blushed.

"I just really love to look at Chilton shirts," she said. "They're so blue."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, and plucked at her sleeve. "Not color blind after all."

She made a face at him. "Come on, tramp," she said. "I'll make you some coffee." She held open the door, and he entered the house with a bob of his head.

"I can't believe you think I'm cheap," Tristan said. "I'm definitely an upscale tramp."

"Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"I think it's more of a descriptive phrase," he corrected.

"Exactly," she said. "A descriptive phrase that juxtaposes two incongruous-" He started to laugh, and she poked him in the stomach before entering the house.

She tossed a "Philistine," over her shoulder as she started down the hall.

"Oooh, Biblical insults," he said. "I'm impressed."

"Well, I learned from the best," she said.

"At least you admit that I am the best at something," he said.

"Oh yeah, master of Biblical insults, that's something to be proud of."

He followed her into the kitchen, listening to the playful lilt of her voice, watching the swish of her hair, the sway of her hips. Friends. It was less than he wanted. But it was more than he'd expected her to give. And he was determined not to screw it up or waste this chance to be a part of her life. He was willing to wait. He was willing to hope. And he was certain that life with her was better than life without her, whatever form it took.

end

_Thanks to everyone who sent feedback on this story. I really appreciate it :)  
_


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